


A Dubious Affection

by TommyLane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry, Language, M/M, Oblivious Draco, Oral Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, ignores Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommyLane/pseuds/TommyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco loved his job as a professional clockmaker. He loved the smell of it, the feel of it, the sound of it. But most of all he loved the solitude it afforded him. In his little workshop he didn't have to listen to all of the inane chatter that simply would not stop - his work providing the perfect barrier against not only the masses of dimwitted twits and their slacked mouthed jowls but it also kept him from having to run across the ever growing Potter fan club that had only seemed to increase and intensify since his defeat of the Dark Lord ten years ago.</p><p>Its was the perfect situation.</p><p>Or at least it was until Potter started taking it upon himself to show up at Draco's door, mangled clocks that needed fixing in hand and an annoying habit of pushing his way not only into Draco's workshop but into every inch of the blondes thoughts as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from the books and I am not making any money off of this
> 
> A/N: This will be 6 chapters long, It's all been written already and I'll just doing one last edit sweep through it - I should be updating at least once a week.

Draco Malfoy was rather fond of his job.

 

Scratch that, he loved his job. He loved the feel of it, the smell of it, the sound of it. He loved the barely audible tick, tick, tick, the minute gears that had to be fitted just right and charmed just so. He even loved the thick metal goggles that made his gray eyes bug out in a very unfashionable manner and the grease stains that frequented his shirt and fingers - even his cheeks and hair at times, a point which seemed to highly annoy his mirror, shrieking things akin to 'if only your mother could see you now,' and wailing's of 'haven't I been a good mirror? Showered you with compliments? Oh why do you treat me so!'

 

To which he would scowl, turn away sharply, and collapse onto his sofa with a glass of wine and a good book - the smudges still gracing his pale complexion. Small victory's, he liked those too, even if he was only winning against his own vanity mirror.

 

He also loved his cluttered workshop that was positively spewing spare parts and broken clockwork that liked to randomly come to life at the most inconvenient of times.

 

And he loved how lonely it was.

 

Lonely was such a lovely word that people simply just did not understand in Draco's humble opinion. It was beautiful to him, holding in its two syllable cadence all that he prized and deemed worthy. In his lonely little workshop he didn't have to listen to the inane chatter that simply would not stop and that positively grated on his nerves, rubbing them raw and making him grit his teeth.

 

No, no being lonely was much better, not only did it keep him away from the masses of dimwitted twits and their slacked mouthed jowls - but it also kept him from having to run across the ever growing Potter fan club that had only seemed to increase and intensify since his defeat of the Dark Lord ten years ago.

 

Yes ten years ago. He really figured it would have been old news by now but no, the fates weren't that kind. Instead he was continually graced with Potter's grinning mug, twinkling out at him from every single paper and magazine he passed. He didn't even read them anymore but that didn't stop him from seeing them, the horrid photographs must have had some sort of charm that made them jump out at Draco.

 

Why else would he notice them everywhere?

 

Honestly it was becoming so bothersome that he was seriously considering hiring someone to purchase his groceries that way he wouldn't ever have to leave the comforts of his flat. 

 

Of course he hadn't always been so tormented by the groupies that liked to faint at even the suggestion that Potter was somewhere near, there was a time where he could look at the pale face and unruly black hair with barely a twitch of recognition. But that was before the wizard who was famous for not dying - a point which both annoyed and aggravatingly enthralled him - had come knocking on his door some weeks back.

 

Draco glanced up from his work and stretched the taut muscles of his back, the ache in his shoulders signaling a needed break from being hunched over his workbench. He shoved his goggles atop his head and stood on stiff legs, tossing the needle fine instrument down next to the broken clockwork.

 

He could vividly remember the first time Potter had acquired his assistance, the man had stood in his doorway, looking ratty and yet polished. A very odd contrast in robes that fit but were singed around the wrists and sagging around the neck, like he couldn't possibly stop tugging on it. He had shifted uncomfortably on his feet as Draco just watched him, a hand on his door, ready to shut it in the hero's face at any moment.

 

"It's broken." Potter had said in a rush, holding out a very old wristwatch with a tasteless cotton strap, numerous dents and scratches marring the plain surface. The thing was honestly a disgrace to watches everywhere and thus a disgrace to Draco himself.

 

"And?" Draco had lifted an eyebrow, Potter's gaze snapping to it with a cock of his head and a nearly unnoticeable shake - which at the time had seemed a little strange but then, of course, later that night his lovely mirror had informed Draco of the smudge above said mentioned brow, so well...mystery solved.

 

"You fix watches." Potter replied slowly like he thought Draco had spent too many months cooped up, huffing toxic fumes, and going slowly mad.

 

Which was really only partly true. Draco liked to think of it as becoming more...enlightened, then mad.

 

He nodded at Potter's obvious statement. Of course Draco fixed watches - clocks of any sort to be exact - that was why he was living in the little flat that was mostly made up of his workshop but also housed a small kitchen, a little bathroom, and a moderate but tastefully decorated bedroom. Really the question wasn't so much what Draco did for a living but what in the world had possessed Potter to be standing on his stoop. The black haired Ministry poster boy never spoke to Draco, never sought his assistance or his company, they generally ignored each other. It was a good system, nodding to each other if they ran across the other on the street and then progressing onward without any sort of interaction.

 

Draco liked it like that. It was predictable. It was clean and straightforward. He didn't like messy...well present clutter excluded. 

 

So really it wasn't so shocking to find that Potter's sudden presence and the sound of his rough voice made Draco uneasy. It was against the unspoken rule of looking straight at the other and speaking. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had heard Potter's voice. Actually he could, it had been raining, there had been a pub and lots of drinks and then Potter...slurring his words in a tone that was so much huskier then when they had been at school, gripping Draco's robes as he tried to keep himself from falling and...Draco didn't like to think about that night. It tended to have negative effects on his sleep. Not to mention that had been years ago.

 

But here Potter was. Standing close, meeting Draco's eye, and speaking, and yet all he could do was find himself growing increasingly annoyed by a stray lock of black hair curling around Potter's glasses. Did the man not own a brush? It was just bad taste to walk around looking so...windblown. Of course his mirror would point out that he walked around with black grease stains but that was beside the point. "And?"

 

Potter glared and huffed, thrusting it towards Draco like he could trick him into taking it with sheer force. "And it needs fixing!" He exclaimed, glancing hopelessly at the incredibly old, dingy watch with distress. "I heard you’re the best around so..."

 

"So?" Draco repeated, finding he rather enjoyed the red tint that all of Potter's huffing and glaring was painting on his face. One would think that if the sainted hero hated him so much that he couldn't even stand to properly ask for assistance in Draco's field of expertise then he would have gone elsewhere. But there Potter was, glaring and swinging his damaged watch and glancing repeatedly at Draco's smeared brow like he was trying to vanish the mark just by looking at it.

 

"Come on Malfoy." He grumbled, carding a hand through his hair, the stray curl bouncing away from his glasses for only a moment before it sprung back into place. "Please?"

 

"Believe it or not, you haven't actually asked for anything yet." Draco pointed out and Potter frowned, most likely flipping back through their short conversation in his dim little head. The man seemed insanely distracted, looking at his watch with an expectation like it would magically start working again and set his life back in order.

 

Potter did seem like he needed a watch.

 

"Oh." He murmured. "Right. Will you fix it then? I can pay upfront."

 

"Give it here." Draco sighed, snatching the watch from Potter who looked like he wanted to protest before he remembered that he was the one who had asked for Draco to take it in the first place. Draco had held it in his hands next to his ear, listening for the faint hum or tick, of which there had been barely any. "It will be more hassle then it's possibly worth Potter. Just buy a new one." He moved to hand the watch back while closing the door between them at the same time.

 

"No!" Potter shouted, his foot catching in the door and preventing Draco from shutting it firmly. "It was a gift, I need...please try?" He looked positively like a kicked puppy about to get sent off into a snow storm. It was annoying that Potter could look like that while at the same time commanding the space of his door frame like he could burn the place down with a twitch of his cheek.

 

He'd heard the stories as well as anyone else had. Not that he believed them, honestly who could? Potter wasn't fucking Merlin or God. He couldn't be all powerful but that didn't stop the outlandish stories from circulating and making his little fan club’s hearts flutter maddeningly.

 

So he had fixed it. Not because of the stories or the powerful presence but because of the puppy look and the please. Potter had never said please to him before. It had taken the better part of a week with Draco hunched over his workbench, goggles magnifying his eyes like a crazed beetle, but he had done it. He had fixed the most unimpressive, rather dull wristwatch in all clockwork history and Potter positively beamed.

 

And then the strangest thing had happened.

 

Potter had stood just inside his door, holding the newly repaired watch, and staring at Draco. Honestly it was most unnerving, to the point that Draco found himself wiping at his cheek, worried that there might have been some grease smudged there. But there hadn't, nor was there any in his hair, or on his chin, or even his shirt for that matter but still Potter stared.

 

His eyes were much too green for such an intense look. Draco did not like it at all. "You can go now." He had grumbled after Potter refused to budge and just kept staring.

 

Potter lifted a hand, the other wrapped snugly around his precious watch, and pointed at Draco's face. "Goggles." He murmured.

 

Draco blinked and shoved the offending eye-wear onto his forehead, his vision adjusting to the newly diminished surroundings. "Magnification and protection, both highly needed for my line of work." He snapped, fighting a wave of unwelcome embarrassment at having forgotten to take the damn things off before Potter had shown up.

 

No wonder the git had stared. Draco knew he looked like a giant insect in them. But they were needed - he used to have an elegant pair of thin wired glasses but he had learned rather quickly that when working with sensitive charms on delicate gears sometimes things got a little heated and well...exploded. And Draco was rather fond of his vision. He rather liked to keep it, hence the horrid and yet amazingly useful goggles.

 

"Right." Potter breathed and then shook his head like he was trying to clear it of a disturbing thought, thanking Draco profusely and backing out the door while staring at the goggles digging into Draco's forehead like he was worried they were going to jump off and attack him.

 

The whole thing had soured Draco's mood, he even had yelled at his vanity mirror and then promptly scrubbed his face clean to make up for it. Which was just silly, since it was just a mirror, but still, he felt wretched. Leave it to Potter to reenter his life and make him feel...something. Whatever it was he didn't like it and he didn't think his goggles deserved such staring.

 

Potter was an Auror for Merlin's sake, he should have bloody understood about protective gear and if he didn't well...maybe that was why Mad-Eye looked the way he did. Maybe the department was just severely lacking.

 

Then of course the prat had to invade his dreams again, dreams that had been blissfully Potter free for quite some time. In it Potter had been devastatingly drunk, just like he had many many moons ago, wearing Draco's goggles and ruining all of Draco's fine-tuned and handmade equipment. Then he had run off to face some evil, nameless, dark wizard - wearing Draco's goggles and nothing else, coming back with an array of pearly white scars and muddy knees but spectacular vision.

 

It was odd to say the least. Odd and unnerving, just like everything Potter related.

 

Either way Draco was happy to settle back into his routine, fixing clocks and generally ignoring the rest of the human race. Of course it was just his luck that brought Potter back to his door a week later, holding a small mantel clock with splintered wood on the edges.

 

"Slipped off the mantel." Potter had explained, holding it out to Draco with something akin to a smile.

 

With a scowl Draco had took it, listened to its finely working tick, tock and handed it back. "It's fine, just ugly." He had proclaimed and slammed his door on Potter who looked positively shell shocked, clutching his clock tightly to his chest.

 

Draco decided he liked that look on Potter and was thus punished by having to dream about it, the dazed, shocked look plastered on Potter's flushed face as he withered against Draco's bedding. Why he was withering was anyone's guess but after that he decided that he was mistaken and definitely did not like the expression.

 

The next time Potter was back within two days, holding the same mantel clock which looked like it had been stomped into the ground. Repeatedly. "It slipped...again." Potter bit his lip and smiled, a real full lip stretching one this time. It was a smile Draco had only ever seen in the distance previously and always directed at other people, never at him.

 

Draco didn't know what to do with it. What exactly was one supposed to do with a smiling, lip-biting Potter?

 

He glared and snatched the clock, intending to proclaim its soundness and sending the man away again. But of course it wasn't okay, the poor damaged clock was barely clinging to life. He had frowned and fitted his goggles over his eyes to take a closer look, ignoring Potter's little intake of air as he focused his attention on the slowly dying enchantment stringing the mangled gears together.

 

"Come back at the end of the week." He instructed without looking up, his fingers already tinkering with the minute gears as he cradled the clock and headed into the depth of his workshop. Time had been of the essence.

 

And now it was Friday, Potter's clock was fixed, and there was a persistent knock on his door. Draco sighed, already tried from working through the night, hungry because he hadn't yet had time for breakfast, and annoyed because he couldn't seem to stop thinking about Potter's wretchedly annoying smile. Honestly he had only seen it twice (directed at him anyway, he saw it all the time on those bloody magazines) but it would not leave his mind alone, it liked to taunt him, much like the man himself liked to torment him. And now said man was here, just when he was about to take a break and finally eat something.

 

With a grumble, he quickly removed his goggles, smoothed his horribly wrinkled shirt, and picked his way across his cluttered workshop, reluctantly pulling the door open.

 

Potter stood on the other side with two steaming cups of tea in his hands and yet another bloody smile on his wide pink lips. He had obviously tried to comb his hair but still it stuck out at odd angles and hung all over his face, a pair of clean, form fitting acid washed jeans resting on his hips and a crisp red button down hugging his upper body - on the whole making Draco feel even more wrinkled, disheveled, and dirty then he had moments ago.

 

He frowned. Bloody Potter.

 

"Hi!" Potter greeted cheerfully, side stepping Draco and walking into his workshop as if he had been invited.

 

His workshop! No one ever came into his flat, it was his own personal space and he loathed people touching his things, poking about where they didn't belong. Just like Potter was doing, setting the cups down and snatching Draco's goggles from his workbench.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco snapped as Potter toyed with the little dials on the edges of the hard metal. "Stop that." He grumbled, plucking them from Potter's grasp and slipping them back on, the thick black strap bunching his hair up around it as they came to rest atop his head. "You'll mess them up."

 

"Did you design them?" Potter asked, staring at the top of Draco's head and sipping at his tea, grimacing and smacking his lips as the steaming liquid entered his mouth. "It's hot." He, rather unnecessarily, pointed out, his mouth hanging open as he sucked in air.

 

"Yes." Draco said, moving around Potter to fetch the man’s newly fixed clock. "Now if you'd please..." Draco let his voice trail off as he placed the mantel clock in Potter's lap and glanced pointedly at the still open door.

 

"Wow, looks...great." Potter scrunched up his nose and laughed a little, the sound positively grating on Draco's last nerve.

 

Honestly as if coming into his place of work and touching his things wasn't bad enough but then Potter had the nerve to laugh at Draco's abilities?

 

"The clockwork is flawless, I assure you." Draco bristled. "I was not hired as a bloody woodworker, if you want it looking pretty again, you'll have to go elsewhere."

 

Potter set the clock down as he hopped atop the high bench and Draco frowned more deeply - that was not the actions of one preparing to leave. "Of course, I didn't mean to...sorry. You want your tea?" He asked, holding the second, untouched cup out to Draco - who eyed it suspiciously. "It's black with milk and a bit of honey, I didn't know what you like so I just...it’s good?"

 

Draco wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a question or a statement but he decided that it really didn't matter since he absolutely was not going to drink it. At least not while Potter was there. Perhaps after the infuriating, trespassing man left. Letting tea go to waste was a senseless thing in his opinion. Especially so early in the morning when tea was most wholeheartedly welcomed and enjoyed.

 

And he did like it with milk and honey. Only a little though, just enough to counter the bitter with a hint of sweet and he was sure Potter had gotten it all wrong - it was probably more the consistency of syrup then tea.

 

"Take it straight then?"

 

Draco glanced up from the proffered cup in Potter's hand to said man's face, glowering at the bloody persistent smile that was still there. "If you don't mind Potter, I have work to do."

 

Potter nodded gravely, glancing around for a moment before letting his gaze resettle on Draco and his goggle adorned head. "Yeah? It sounds interesting, never was good at the mechanics of things myself."

 

"Shocking." Draco grumbled, rubbing a tired hand over his tired face, belatedly noticing the grease on his fingers that was no doubt now smeared across his cheeks and nose. Bloody brilliant.

 

Potter stared at him intently, biting into his bottom lip harshly with his cup of tea hovering inches from the abused appendage. "Maybe." He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Maybe you could show me what you're working on?"

 

Draco narrowed his eyes and tore them from Potter's steadily reddening lip. "Why? Am I under investigation?" He was only half serious of course but then again...that would give some sort of logical explanation as to why Potter was being so chummy and chatty all of a sudden.

 

The Auror laughed. "Of course not...though should you be?" He turned his tone utterly serious but his eyes were dancing and Draco had to force himself to accept that Potter was...joking? Joking with him. Like they were friends.

 

God he needed to sleep. This had to be a delusion, maybe he had been huffing too many toxic fumes and ignoring clean air for too long.

 

He watched as Potter grinned and slipped from the workbench, stepping around its side and trailing his fingers along its contents. "Hiding something devious?" Potter cocked an eyebrow and moved to touch a delicate miniature wrench that not only tightened a certain type of welding but also plucked apart damaged spell work.

 

It had taken him months to make it and get it just right. And Potter was going to pick it up and Draco had seen how Potter handled delicate things. He crushed them. He smooshed them to smithereens.

 

"Don't. Touch. That." He hissed, his hand wrapped snugly around Potter's wrist, holding it centimeters away from his specialized tool.

 

Potter blinked at him, glanced up to his goggles, sucked in a breath, looked at his no doubt black smeared cheek, slid his gaze up his nose to his forehead once more, before finally resting on Draco's livid and slightly purple rimmed gray eyes.

 

Draco stared back, meeting the flaring emerald eyes head on and fearing that maybe this hadn't been the wisest of decisions. He hadn't been this close too Potter since the poor blighter had slipped in the street and clung to him for dear life. Potter's skin was unnaturally hot, his breath like little puffs of fire on his face, his pulse jumping beneath Draco's sensitive fingertips, his face flushing as Potter...held his breath?

 

Draco glanced down to see that Potter's chest was puffed and still, no air pumping in and out of it.

 

With a horrendous thought that he stunk to high heaven he released Potter with a quick jerk, stepping swiftly backward, trying desperately to remember the last time he had showered. It had been yesterday morning...right? That's it, he definitely needed to work less and sleep more.

 

"Possessive." Potter breathed and it was Draco's turn to blink in confusion.

 

"What?"

 

"Possessive. Of your things, that is." Potter let out a quick, nervous sounding laugh and straightened his impeccably wrinkle free shirt. "Do you always manhandle your clients?"

 

"My clients don't normally poke about my things. They take their clocks, leave their money, and run away."

 

A blush on Potter's cheeks was most confusing as he scratched his neck. "Er, right. Well I guess I should...go." He looked up, seemingly almost hopeful, his cheek twitching as Draco nodded in agreement.

 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Draco called out as Potter started towards the door with a little frown.

 

"Mhmm?" Potter looked up, hands shoved in his pockets as he stopped in the doorway.

 

"Your clock Potter." Draco sighed, picking up the dejected thing and handing it to the bewildered man.

 

"Oh, yeah, right. Thanks again Malfoy." And with one last long look that Draco couldn't possibly decode, he was gone, leaving Draco standing in his suddenly empty workshop.

 

Which was just absurd. It was far from empty and with an annoyed huff he snapped his door shut, crossed the room, picked up the cup of tea Potter had brought him and promptly took a sip - preparing to utterly hate it.

 

But of course it was perfect, just the right blend of ingredients, warming his stomach and lending light to his sluggish thoughts.

 

The bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Either Potter was more klutzy then Draco ever dreamed or the man had a serious love/hate thing going on with clocks.

 

Over the course of the next four months Potter had brought him no less than ten clocks to fix. Each one so badly damaged it was a miracle they could be fixed at all.

 

There was the bedside clock that had met with a violent encounter with a wall. "It wouldn't stop buzzing. I dunno Malfoy, honestly, I didn't mean for it to hit the wall when I threw it." Potter had said, looking rumpled and bed tousled like he had just finished fighting with his clock and then immediately rushed over to seek help for it.

 

Potter had brought him straight green tea along with his payment, leaning against his door frame and staring briefly at Draco's complexion before glancing into Draco's workshop as he droned on and on about who knows what. Draco couldn't shake the feeling that the Ministry man had been looking for something and found himself inexplicably staring around his own flat over the next day like he was trying to find something he couldn't remember losing - which ultimately just made him think of Potter and the look on his face as he had stared at Draco's unusually pale skin like he was seeing something he had never laid his eyes on before.

 

It was highly irritating and Draco was convinced that thinking so much of Potter's mug was surely going to make his brain turn to mud - which would be truly terrible for business.

 

There was the pocket watch that kept meowing instead of shining a soft light when rubbed in a counter-clockwise circle and when he announced that that was not the sort of problem Draco was willing to take care of (it was obviously a simple charm Potter could figure out himself), the man had come back the next day with it crushed nearly to dust. "Dropped a book on it." Potter had explained when Draco had growled exasperatedly. "It was a really big book. A Hermione kind of book." Then Potter had done the whole biting-his-lip-while-smiling thing and Draco had begrudgingly fixed it.

 

Potter brought him a bag of scones when he picked it back up. Slicing them opening and making himself at home at Draco's workbench, chatting annoyingly as Draco scolded and ate the bloody scone. It was chocolate and pumpkin damn it and he hadn't made all that much progress on the whole eating and sleeping more thing - it had only gotten worse since Potter had become his number one client.

 

So Potter talked and Draco chewed and tried to smile and nod at the appropriate moments but could really only concentrate on the way Potter's lips moved opposed to what he was actually saying.

 

Potter, it turned out, was a very animated talker. He used his whole mouth, like he was trying to distract you from the fact that he wasn't all that bright. He also seemed to be engaged in a never ending war with his glasses, trying to keep them on the bridge of his nose when they so obviously wanted to slide right off every time he laughed. And Draco was fast coming to realize that Potter laughed a lot.

 

He laughed when he was nervous. He laughed when he thought Draco was making a joke when in reality he was being utterly serious about Potter lighting his wardrobe on fire and acquiring a new one - honestly Potter's wardrobe was much too tight for Draco's comfort level, it forced him to see every line of the man's body and it wasn't natural the way they drew Draco's gaze like magnets. He laughed when he was confused or uncertain, hell he even laughed a nervous little chuckle the first time Draco had smiled - well maybe it looked more like a sneer but that wasn't his fault, he wasn't used to smiling much these days. But most grating of all he laughed for apparently no reason at all. Draco didn't understand that one, why would someone do that? He really didn't condone out right laughing even if something was humorous but for no reason? Honestly that was just bad taste.

 

Plus the sound did funny things to his nerves and made it hard for him to tighten the minuscule screws he had to work with after Potter finally got the hint and left.

 

There was the giant grandfather clock that Potter had to levitate through the door, the thing smashed to heart breaking bits. "Teddy got to it." Potter said with a shrug. "He got a bat for his birthday and well..." Draco had glared and pointed out that it was a person's duty to protect such precious heirlooms to which Potter nodded seriously and muttered things like, "I know", "just shocking", and "just don't know what to do with the boy."

 

Draco didn't buy any of it. It was more likely that Potter had taken the bat to it first and Teddy, whoever this child was, had followed suit. But he fixed it anyway and only had to suffer through four hours of Potter's company on pick up day - the black haired man showing up with a carton of takeaway that smelled too amazing to deny. They had even made it past Draco's workshop and into the little kitchen, sitting at the small table and eating with wooden chopsticks and plastic forks, Potter frowning only slightly when Draco finally remembered his goggles were still perched atop his head and discarded them.

 

Getting Potter to leave after dinner was over was a challenge, he wanted to know how Draco had gotten into clockwork and if he liked it and so on and so on, never once mentioning the smudges of black on his cheek and chin or the thick streak standing in stark contrast through his platinum blond hair.

 

Then he had stood in the doorway, biting his lip and smiling again, muttering something about a pub down the street that served a good beer. Though Draco honestly couldn't remember the details, he was much too exhausted, having worked through two nights and days on the grandfather clock.

 

When he finally managed to fall into bed it was only to dream of Potter feeding him chocolate and caressing his smudged face with a strange fondness.

 

All this to say that Draco was relatively sure that Potter was either losing his mind or his job had turned him into a violent bat wielding maniac, his analysis only confirmed as he stared at Potter now, with broken clock number eleven in the dark haired man's arms.

 

"It fell." Draco deadpanned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sighing.

 

"Yup. I was moving it and tripped." Potter nodded, the mangled clock looking so sad and despairing.

 

"Right." Draco raised an eyebrow, both of them knowing perfectly well that the extent of damage couldn't have occurred from a simple fall. "Fall out a window did it?"

 

Pottered blushed and glanced down. "Kind of."

 

"How does a clock kind of fall out a window?"

 

"I tripped and the window was...open...?"

 

"Was that a question?" Draco crossed his arms, leaning against the door jam and blocking Potter's entry lest he try and sneak past him like he usually did.

 

"Er, no." Potter smiled a crooked smile that was boyish and charming and too bright for the gloomy sort of day it was turning out to be. "I mean the window was open and I got a new rug, not used to it yet and all, the thing just pitched right through when I fell."

 

"Perhaps you should get rid of it then. Or better yet, stop moving your clocks around." Draco snapped.

 

"Yeah probably." Potter grinned, looking much too happy for a man who had just accidentally threw his clock out a window. "So how long?"

 

"How long for what?" Draco grumbled, fidgeting with the wrist cuff of his black button down, the small gray button having escaped his attention when Potter had banged on his door and was thus left hanging open without dignity.

 

Potter shifted, leaning his shoulder against the opposite side of the door jam, bringing him much too close for Draco's liking. Had the man never heard of personal space before? Honestly, not everyone was so enamored with the heroic wizard that they were perfecting happy with having their very air invaded.

 

Plus the closeness forced Draco to smell his shampoo - an exotic fruity scent - mixed with a slight musk that must have accumulated on the man’s skin while he was apparently running around holding his clock collection. It made Draco's stomach flip and his lips frown.

 

"How long will it take to fix it?" Potter asked, jiggling his broken armload a little.

 

"Just toss it Potter, you have enough time pieces to keep you on schedule. You don't need another." A beeping was sounding in his kitchen, signaling that his morning tea was ready but Draco did his best to ignore it. He didn't care that good manners required him to offer Potter a cup, there was no way he was letting the clock murderer inside - Potter was like the flu, a second to catch and week to get rid of and Draco was determined not to spend another week with Potter consuming his every minute. "In fact I think you own a touch too many as it is."

 

"But..." Potter frowned, looking down at his dejected clock, his brow crinkling with what could only be pain from having to use his brain, and blast it, making him look like a kicked puppy again.

 

Draco was growing to hate that look. "For heaven’s sake, are you emotionally attached to this one too?"

 

"Um...?"

 

"Was it a gift?" Draco continued, cringing slightly as the beeping grew in pitch, drawing Potter's gaze past him and towards his kitchen for a moment.

 

"No." Potter answered after dragging his gaze back to Draco.

 

"An old family heirloom then?"

 

"Erm." Potter shifted and Draco smirked when he realized that the clock was heavy, the idiot apparently forgotten to have cast a feather light charm over it. 

 

"I'll take that as a no."

 

"I just like it okay, so how long to fix it?" Potter huffed, looking mildly miffed.

 

"I don't know because I'm not going to." Draco sighed, taking a step back and turning away, suddenly feeling a tad light headed and needing to get away from Potter's rather all-consuming scent and turn the damn beeping off, the fact that his tea was most likely ruined now souring his mood further.

 

"What? Why not?" There was a smack as the door banged shut and Draco rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as Potter followed him into his kitchen.

 

"Because believe it or not I do have other clients besides you Potter, several of them with vastly more interesting projects I might add." Draco stared into his open cupboard, debating with himself over how many mugs to pull down, before scowling at the air and hooking his thumb through two tall crystal blue ones.

 

It was helpless he knew, Potter was past the threshold, and therefor in essence he had been ensnared for another week - might as well shut the man up for a moment with a mug of hot liquid. Plus he found the way the tea reddened Potter's mouth distracting and distractions were nice where Potter was concerned, it kept the former Slytherin from falling back into old habits and casting silencing charms or perhaps one or two illegal hexes that the Auror wouldn't be able to overlook.

 

What with Potter's moral code and all.

 

"More interesting? How can one broken clock be more interesting than another?" Potter asked, his voice accompanied with a thunk that could only be the mangled clock hitting his tabletop.

 

Draco cringed, if there was so much as a tiny scratch because of that thoughtlessness he was going to cast a hex, red lips or not and consequences be damned.

 

"I don't only fix them." Draco grumbled, portioning out the steaming Darjeeling tea before adding a dollop of milk to his own, two into Potter's, and a drip of honey like the man liked. He frowned at the swirling milky cloud as he stirred it, since when did he know how Potter took his tea? Himself excluded, he didn't know how anyone liked their tea, he didn't know if Pansy liked it with sugar or if Blaise even added milk at all, hell he didn't even know how his own mother took it and he joined her every Sunday for teatime.

 

But somehow he knew Potter liked two dollops of milk and a tip full of honey, unless it was herbal or green tea, which he took straight.

 

"Oh?" Potter joined him at the counter, leaning his back against the edge and smiling as he took the offered mug between his hands. "What else do you do?"

 

"I make them on commission." Grabbing his own mug and padding back into the heart of his workshop, he tried to convince himself that it was surely just a symptom of Potter-overexposure. Plus the Gryffindor was positively an addict. He drank tea like a fish. Which was kind of odd in Draco's opinion - one really shouldn't have more than four cups a day at most - and the fact that he knew Potter always had a cup of something in his hand was nearly as bothersome as the fact that he knew how he liked it. Hell he could probably write an article detailing Potter's tea fetish and how he likes to prepare each concoction and sell it for a hefty sum - his ridiculous fan club would eat it up and no doubt become tea addicts themselves.

 

Potter probably even drank tea while he was out in the field, somehow managing to smirk while sipping from his cup, with his wrist flicking carefree little spells at his opponent who would probably just faint at the sight of Potter anyway, regardless of the teacup and lazy casting. Hell he probably even had tea while he was having sex, telling his lady love to hold on just one second mid thrust as he reached towards his bedside table and took a long gulp - or maybe he wouldn't even stop, maybe he had perfected how to pound his partner while he was drinking.

 

That would be rather impressive actually.

 

Not that he thought about Potter's sex life. He was just growing rather worried, or annoyed actually, of Potter's so obvious addiction. He was in dire need of help...obviously.

 

"You make them? Like from scratch?" Potter appeared next to him once more, propping a hip against his workbench as Draco settled down onto his stool.

 

"Yes Potter, like from scratch." Draco snatched his goggles and fitted them over his eyes, his fingers twirling a long, thin steel screwdriver in the air as he pulled his latest project towards himself. There would be no more looking at Potter and definitely no more thinking about Potter in intimate embraces, amazing tea balancing skills or no.

 

"That's...impressive." Potter actually sounded impressed, which surprised Draco greatly and he couldn't help but glance up at the man invading his space once again in stunned silence only to find Potter staring back with that spark in his gaze that was lighting in his green eyes with greater frequency as of late.

 

Draco didn't know what to make of it. He was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that Potter liked his goggles - and not in a 'trying not to laugh at the outrageous way it made him look' kind of way. He seemed to like it when Draco wore them, they didn't have to even be over his eyes, it seemed he favored them just as much on his forehead but he would frown like it was some sort of personal offense if Draco ever took them all the way off. It was immensely weird and confusing.

 

Perhaps he just had a thing for eye-wear. Or maybe he was jealous that Draco had invented them himself while Potter ran around chasing horrifically dangerous Dark wizards in nothing more than a red and black uniform that aggravatingly held no protective qualities other than making him remarkably stunning.

 

Draco frowned at that thought, where in there world did that even come from? He could remember the day Potter had showed up at his door in his full Auror regalia, complete with black leather gloves and shiny badge, grinning with a sweaty forehead and damp curls and mud splattered all over his thick black boots. He looked like he had just spent the entire day dueling to an inch of his life and now all he wanted to do was make tea in Draco's kitchen as he pushed his hair off his sticky forehead and stare at Draco as he put the finishing touches on the latest of Potter's damaged clocks. It had been most unnerving, especially considering the fact that he had felt strangely...er, aroused as Potter leaned against his gloved palm and watched him with that spark.

 

He had chalked that unfortunate reaction up to his sleep deprived body reacting to the natural pheromones the evil wizard hunter was emitting after such a chase had given him. But that didn't explain the little twist in his stomach now at just the memory of it. He shook his head and blinked, forcing his gaze back down to his work and cursing inwardly at the realization that his hands were definitely not steady enough any longer to thread the wire between the gears and tighten it to just the right tautness.

 

Another irksome side effect of Potter's proximity.

 

"What kinds? Like those massive grandfather clocks?" Potter tapped his fingers against the bench and Draco scowled at them. Potter had long fingers. Long, slim fingers that probably spent all day wrapped around his wand.

 

No, no, that was a bad mental image.

 

"Yes, all kinds really, though I specialize in pocket watches and miniature time pieces set into boxes." Draco purposefully left out the fact that the people who tended to order the boxes did so with rather nefarious uses in mind but that was hardly his problem. He liked making them, they were difficult and intricate and challenged him and really it wasn't up to him what his clients decided to do with the things he made for them. It's not like he was using them for Dark Magic. Though he had wondered from time to time...

 

"I thought you said you didn't do woodworking?" Potter's fingers stilled and wrapped themselves around the edge of the bench, his tone full of curiosity as if they were discussing something vastly interesting instead of carving and cutting and drilling and soldering.

 

Though perhaps Potter did find it interesting and Draco couldn't stop himself from imagining Potter watching him with that same intense look while he chipped and burnt the wood into the wanted design as he did when Draco's pale fingers were slicked with grease and his eyes were bugging out as he slid a gear into place. Not to mention Potter's notoriously wild hair would probably smell like smoke and wood for hours afterwards... 

 

"No I said that you didn't hire me in that particular capacity. It would have cost extra and you’re already single handedly financing my retirement as it is." Draco explained, waving towards the general direction of the corner of his flat devoted to his woodworking tools as proof. Honestly he was quite surprised that Potter hadn't particularly noticed the stack of deep cherry wood sooner, considering how intent he was in staring and poking through all of Draco's things.

 

Plus wasn't that a requisite of Potter's job, to be observant?

 

"I was wondering..." The tea drinking addict trailed off, leaving his confusing sentence hanging in the air between them.

 

"Wondering what pray tell?" Draco tried not to grit his teeth as he took a deep breath and attempted to tighten the wire once more.

 

"If you needed to work or if you just did this for fun."

 

"My trust fund could keep me perfectly comfortable but a life of leisure isn't quite to my taste." Draco knew he sounded haughty and that the little smirk on his lips had to be somewhat confusing but he couldn't help but picture his father when he had first visited Draco's workshop. He had stood just inside the door and scowled menacingly for ten whole minutes before huffing up his chest and pointing out oh so kindly that Draco was throwing his life and talent away on such a career path. 

 

And that had sealed the deal. Call it a silly act of rebellion but Draco had no intention of becoming anything like his father and doing something the elder Malfoy so obviously disapproved of only cemented the idea in the younger's heart and well...he liked clocks. They were consistent in a way nothing else in life was.

 

He remembered the first time he had fixed a clock, it had been the one residing on his bedroom mantle during that horrid year his family was playing host to the Dark Lord. He had just been forced to torture a nameless muggle born and his hands had shook so badly afterwards that the slimy Dark Lord had decided Draco himself needed punishment. When he had been released and allowed back to his room, he had stared at the unmoving hour hand on his clock he'd had since childhood for hours before silently walking over to it, pulling it down, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and losing himself in disassembling and reassembling it.

 

He remembered that first soft tick that signaled his success, it made everything seem a bit lighter, more...certain. He always carried a pocket watch from then on. The physical passing of time on the time pieces face had been what gotten him through the war with his sanity. He could even remember the exact time the most major events of that year took place, especially the moment the Dark Lord had reemerged from the Forbidden Forest with a supposedly dead Harry Potter. He had broken his watch then with a squeeze of his fist and an anguished pulse of raw magic, making time stop in every way possible as all his hope died with Potter's limp body. He remembered how everything froze inside him, the broken clock in his fist the only warm thing inside or around him. Every second that passed was immeasurable and horrible and all he could think was that if he could rewind time then maybe everything would be okay.

 

But he couldn't. Potter was dead and Draco was sure that time would never tick forward again. Time and Potter seemed to be forever entwined for him.

 

Just like he remembered that it had been a Friday at 2:00am when he and Potter had stumbled out of the pub and into the dark street years ago.

 

Or that it had been a Monday at 9:42am when Potter had come knocking on his door all those months ago.

 

"Is that a no then?" Potter's disappointed sounding voice jolted Draco out of his quickly deteriorating thoughts and back to the present.

 

Draco took a deep breath and shook his head a little, he didn't like thinking about the war, nor about the fact that he still had that broken pocket watch, the hands forever held in that moment that Potter was gone from his life.

 

"Pardon?" He set the screwdriver aside and fiddled with the little dial on the side of his goggles, his eyes adjusting with expert ease to the newly magnified field of vision, the softest pink glow pulsing out from the edges of the second embedded gear. His jaw clenched as he reached out towards it, mumbling softly under his breath as he turned it carefully, the pink throbbing until it turned to a pale blue - a smile spreading across Draco's lips.

 

There, he accomplished something in Potter's presence.

 

"I asked if you could make me one? A pocket watch?" Sipping his tea and looking utterly genuine, watching Draco with an odd sort of fascination, the blond quickly determined that Potter had indeed either been assigned to keep an eye on him for some cosmically ordained retribution for his past sins or he really did have an unhealthy love of clocks. Neither boded well.

 

"Potter." Draco started slowly, shoving the goggles onto his forehead so Potter didn't look like a giant with eyes the size of dinner plates. "You already own a pocket watch, I know because I fixed it for you a few months ago."

 

"I gave it to Ron."

 

"Ah, so you do have friends."

 

"What was that?" Potter cocked his head and set his already empty mug down next to his leg - a prime location for it be knocked off by Potter's uncoordinated movements and shatter into a million little shards.

 

Draco slid it carefully to a safer spot before answering. "As I've stated before, you already own a ridiculous amount of clockwork, you do not need another." He paused and eyed Potter carefully, trying very hard to ignore the slow blink and slight twitch of his cheek that always proceeded the abandoned puppy look. "Besides my fees are astronomical."

 

That, for some reason, cheered Potter up, his shoulders straightening and a smile playing on his lips. "I have the money."

 

"But you don't need it." Draco sighed, already feeling the defeat of the conversation.

 

"But I want it." Potter somehow didn't even sound petulant as he said that, he just sounded...honest and like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to get what he wanted.

 

Which he probably did all the time, he probably didn't even have to walk across mud puddles if he didn't want to, there were probably hundreds of groupies ready to throw their cloaks down at a moment’s notice so their savior wouldn't have to soil his boots. Stupid groupies.

 

"You." Draco narrowed his eyes, pointing an accusing finger at his old school rival. "Are relentless." He growled to which Potter nodded enthusiastically - like it was a compliment, which really just made Draco determined to insult him more in order to deflate the bespectacled git's head. It was for Potter's own good really, Draco was going to be doing him a favor.

 

"Which is why it would be better to just accept now." Potter leaned down, once again invading Draco's personal space with a closeness that was making him suddenly dizzy again. "Because I always get what I want."

 

"I remember you being less self-centered." Draco raised an eyebrow, holding his ground and not leaning back despite the fact that he could see a wet sheen glistening on Potter's red lips.

 

Potter grinned and ran the tip of his tongue over his already damp bottom lip, like he just knew how much of a distraction it was. "I remember you being a right prick. Seems we've both grown up a little."

 

"Fine." Draco conceded, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Potter pulled back and straighten to his full height, forcing Draco to cock his head back to look at him properly. The angle made Potter look taller, broader...intimidating with that blasted smile.

 

"So we'll meet Friday, say eight? I'll send you the address." Potter was looking far too pleased with himself, like he had just won some great prize when in reality he had just agreed to sign a rather monstrous amount of money over to Draco because the Slytherin would be damned if he didn't over charge the annoying blighter and squeeze every last knut out of him that he could.

 

"What for?" Draco turned back towards his work, intent on seeming as aloof as he possibly could despite the fact that his heart was beating strangely fast for some unknowable reason. He didn't like the things Potter's presence did to him, it was like he was getting dumber by the day and now his heart and stomach were even revolting.

 

"To go over the design for my new pocket watch of course."

 

"You're going to be insufferable aren't you?" Draco grumbled and then promptly stiffened as he felt Potter's finger run along the band holding the goggles onto his head, suppressing a visible flinch when those warm fingers grasped the hard metal and slid them into place over Draco's pale eyes. He blinked and tried to focus his vision but everything was swimming funnily and all he could see was Potter's intense green stare.

 

He shivered and gulped. Potter's eyes weren't just green, they were green, a distinction he couldn't believe he had never noticed before.

 

"You can count on it." Potter bit his lip and smiled and Draco was near certain he could hear his own blood rushing loudly in his ears as Potter fingered the edge of his goggles once more before turning and striding out the door.

 

Leaving Draco to wonder just what the hell happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I'm running around like a crazy person this week and alas I fear I don't have time to responds to you all but know that your comments warm my heart and always put a goofy smile on my face. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Friday came with the speed of a train...well actually waking up on Friday felt like getting hit by a train whereas the days leading up to it seemed to drag on and on and on, lasting so horrifically long that it felt like the end of the week would surely never come.

 

 

But come it had and Draco suddenly couldn't remember why he had been so anxious for it. The perfectly pitched sound of his alarm clock had rung softly throughout his bedroom - neither too loud nor too quiet, just shrill enough to cut through the fog of sleep - and had pulled him from dreamland, which had been oddly filled once more with Potter in all sorts of unnerving situations.

 

He had showered, trying to ignore his morning erection before giving up, as he typically ended up doing, and pulling himself off with the water pounding into his back and the last remnants of his dream filtering through his mind. He was sure the black haired man in the red and black uniform taking form behind his eyes couldn't possibly be Potter, because there was no way in hell that the Auror could possibly have such on effect on his libido. No, no it had to have been someone else with long fingers, and red tea heated lips, and green green eyes that always popped open to look right at him as he reached his climax.

 

Yup it was someone else and he would go to his grave swearing to that fact.

 

Not that anyone knew of his morning...er solo times and what he was thinking about but that was beside the point.

 

Though he found that he liked to drink his scolding hot tea right after and he wasn't quite sure what that meant - especially since tea now made him think of his most demanding client. It was aggravating. It was also aggravating how often he was forced to feel aggravated lately and well, that once again made him think of Potter because Potter was aggravating to his very core and...

 

It was a pointless circle. He could go round and round for hours and he hated doing that, it tended to make him tighten screws too roughly or come an inch too close to a finger for his liking while working with his table saw.

 

Merlin help him if he lost a finger because of bloody Potter. Draco would be forced to kill him as he couldn't seem to think of any other remedy to get the obnoxious man out of his brain. Plus it was a finger! You can't grow those back, you just have to live without it, and that would be a true tragedy.

 

Draco had nice fingers. Or so he'd been told.

 

"No lovely, try the black one, you know, the one with the silver buttons."

 

Draco scowled at his mirror and ran his fingers through his hair - his grease free hair, nothing but beautiful platinum locks that fell enticingly over his brow and brushed around his ears. It was longer than his mother liked him to wear it and his father was constantly trying to buy him new hair gel in order to get his son to slick it back but Draco liked it like this (plus he was 28 and really it was about time his parents butted out of his life but that unfortunately was not the pureblood way). It was still masculine but with some actual character to it, plus he knew from experience that if he ruffled it just right, with just a smidgen of mousse that he could get nearly any companion he wished when out at a bar, especially when he tipped his head and let a piece fall over his eye. 

 

It was a perfected move from when he was younger, seeing as he rarely went out much these days, but he was happy to see that he could still accomplish it without any real effort.

 

Not that he was trying to look enticing, he was only meeting Potter for Merlin's sake.

 

"I'm not changing again." Draco snapped at his vanity mirror, turning slightly to his right to check over his reflection. He looked good in the sapphire blue scoop neck tee-shirt and pitch black jeans that accentuated his lean form that he had somehow managed to keep despite his sedentary work. The sharp, pointed angles of his face had softened somewhat over the years…or maybe he had just finally grown into them. Either way he no longer looked pinched, like there was a bad smell nearby, and Draco found that he could actually look well, approachable, if he let himself relax his facial muscles - but only if he was trying, otherwise he still maintained enough of the hard angles to seem sufficiently aloof liked he preferred.

 

"That is not how to dress to impress." His mirror drawled in a haughty tone that sounded remarkably like his mother.

 

"I'm not trying to impress, I'm just meeting Potter." Snatching the leather jacket from his wardrobe he shrugged it over his shoulders and swung the dark gray scarf in loose loops around his neck to complete the ensemble. "Strictly business." He added as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket and slid his wand into the special pocket in his jeans, the wooden length resting invisibly against his thigh.

 

"Harry Potter." His mirror cooed and Draco narrowed his eyes at his own reflection. Honestly even his mirror was enamored with the war hero? He just didn't get it, it was just Potter.

 

Klutzy, clock adoring, tea guzzling, predicable Potter with his insane hair that looked like he had just shoved his finger into a light socket, and his muscular arms that the shirts he liked to wear showcased perfectly, and his annoying habit of smiling while biting his lip, and not to mention those stupid emerald eyes.

 

No, not emerald, they were more...hell Draco didn't know but debating the shade of green that Potter's eyes were was hardly a productive way to pass the time. Nor was it necessary because like he said, it was just Potter.

 

"You should definitely wear the black one then and the black trousers and...a necklace, yes a necklace! Oh he'd love it!"

 

"Do shut up." He smiled a bitter smile and walked away from his sputtering mirror, his bedroom door closing and thankfully cutting off the sound of its high pitched trill. He really didn't know why he even kept it when he just found it so terribly annoying. It had been a gift from his mother when he had moved and his parents had been so disappointed that he had chosen to live in a muggle neighborhood that he figured the least he could do was keep the damn mirror.

 

He was seriously reconsidering his decision though.

 

Waving his hand towards his workbench the clockwork that had been chattering and very nearly bouncing against the wooden table top quieted back down, lying still once more. With another quick twitch of his wrist his previously hastily abandoned tools flew to their receptive places, his goggles dropping themselves over their hook on the wall, and his slim portfolio zooming into his out stretched hand.

 

He had come up with three different designs for Potter to look over but strangely Draco wasn't over excited about any of them like he usually was. He loved coming up with his own pieces but for some reason every time he sat down to sketch out a pocket watch for the overly famous wizard all he could think about was the day of the final battle and how Potter had looked, legs swinging in the air, eyes dusted closed, arms limp - the same arms that not long before had pulled him from the fire. It was in those moments that Draco could smell the burning air and feel Potter's back pressed tightly against his front, his hands gripping Potter's waist for all he was worth.

 

He had gone into that room to capture Potter and turn him over to the Dark Lord in a desperate attempt to redeem his family from their excruciating fall from grace. But Potter had saved him instead, the perpetual hero, and he couldn't help but wonder - and not for the first time - if that was why he was so enamored with time and clocks. Like his own form of redemption was seeking to rid the world of those tragic moments that had ceased to exist in Draco's being, the moments Potter didn't win, didn't survive. He erased those minutes each time he fixed a clock, he saw Potter's eyes flash with life with every gear that turned once more and heard his voice with every reawakened tick.

 

Of course Draco couldn't abide by the fact that Potter's near death had affected him so deeply and thus, overtime, Potter's gaze and voice dimmed in his mind until all he saw were the gears and all heard was the metallic tick - not allowing himself to acknowledge anything more. That was until recently, until Potter in his flesh and blood sprung free from its place in Draco's mind to his daily life.

 

Which was just thoroughly frustrating. Feelings weren't Draco's cup of tea, suppressing and compartmentalizing were.

 

Glancing around himself he strode towards the front door and pulled it open, trying to dispel the sudden nervousness he felt gripping his stomach. Like he had been continually reminding himself all day, it was just Potter, just a meeting, another chance to become even richer. The muggle pub Potter had chosen to meet at was a few blocks away from the corner Draco lived on, the autumn night chilly but not unpleasantly. It was actually a rather nice night for a walk and Draco found himself easing into his steps with a growing confidence as his feet carried him forwards and before he knew it he was there.

 

The Hollyhock Rust.

 

A disgusting name for a pub really. Honestly who in their right mind would name a dinning establishment after a floral disease?

 

There was a group of men loitering outside the front of the thick black doors that looked like they had lived through a fire and as Draco stepped through its threshold he quickly came to realize that it was a theme. An ‘I nearly burned down but am still standing strong’ theme. The walls that went up and up and up were scorched black over exposed red brick, old photographs of burning buildings and firemen with their hoses spewing gallons of water hanging by thick wire at varying heights around the room. There was a wrought iron staircase winding up towards a loft in the middle of the pub where a low thud of music could be heard and all around the vast open expanse of the ground floor were blackened wooden tables with paintings of Hollyhock twining up their legs - a long bar with back lit alcohol bottles lining shelf after shelf running along the far wall.

 

Separately it all seemed a bit strange but together it was impressive, giving off the feeling of hiding away in a sooty pub in the middle of nowhere instead of in a great sprawling city.

 

It felt like a place to come and forget yourself in.

 

Draco frowned. He wasn't here to forget his inhibition, this, as he repeatedly told himself, was a business meeting and nothing more.

 

The pub seemed to be steadily filling up, with waitresses winding through the growing crowd, but it only took a moment to spot Potter at a table in the far corner. He was sitting sideways in his chair, his back leaning against the brick wall, his legs clad in gray trousers stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. The black and gray stripped sweater he wore was bunched around his wrists like he kept pushing the sleeves up to his elbows only to have them fall back down, the material stretched across his chest in a way that seemed to revel in his slim, muscular build.

 

Draco felt the corner of his lips twitch with an attempted smile at the sight, he was fast coming to realize that even with the updated wardrobe that fit just right Potter somehow always seemed to come across rumpled - like he dressed the night before and just rolled out of bed without doing anything in the morning.

 

 

It was rather enduring.

 

That unnerving thought hit the same moment Potter caught his eye with a slow spreading smile and Draco felt something thump in his chest - making him firmly decide that he didn't like the Hollyhock Rust. In fact he didn't think Potter should be anywhere near an establishment that centralized on fire. It was too much, too...real. Squaring his shoulders at Potter's welcoming wave, Draco made his way across the floor, the chair squeaking as he drug it back and dropped down into it.

 

"Potter." He said in way of greeting, laying his portfolio down next to him on the table top.

 

Potter's elbows landed on the table as he twisted in his seat, his gaze raking up Draco in a way that made the blond entirely uneasy. "Should have guessed you'd be here on the nose." He grinned and drummed his fingers against his cheek as he rested his chin in his palm.

 

"You said eight, it's only polite."

 

"Ah, of course, nothing at all to do with your time obsession then?"

 

"My time obsession?" Draco repeated incredulously, silently wishing that Potter would stop blinking owlishly at him from behind his round glasses.

 

"You eat dinner at 7:40." Potter countered as Draco frowned.

 

"So?"

 

"7:40 Malfoy, not 7:30 not 8:00...I bet you wake up at an oddly specific time too." Potter's tone was light and teasing, chuckling softly. "Don't you?"

 

"I don't see how that matters." Draco pulled the laminated menu towards himself, purposely ignoring Potter's gaze.

 

"Come on, what time?" Potter prompted, nudging him with his toe under the table.

 

"And you think I have the obsession." He flicked it open and tried to concentrate on the small black lettering of the appetizers but all he could think about was Potter's booted foot that was still pressed against his. It felt wrong, it felt solid, it felt...intimate.

 

"6:02? Or is that too early? 7:33?" Potter paused and Draco could feel him tap his foot in quick succession. "8:17?"

 

"You're just spouting random numbers." He grumbled, sliding his foot backwards and out of Potter's tapping presence, rolling his eyes in annoyance when Potter didn't respond but instead just kept staring at him expectantly. "Fine, I get up 6:37, happy? And I assume your clock goes off at a much more normal time? You probably silence it a million times too, don't you?"

 

Potter laughed and grinned. "Yes I do. I hate mornings, their evil and should probably die. I like to lay in bed."

 

Draco shifted under Potter's heavy gaze and pushed the mental image of Potter's stormy head against white pillows and tangled sheets violently away. Honestly he just didn't know where those thoughts came from. "To wank?" He drawled, smirking as he glanced back down at the menu.

 

Not that Potter even had to wank, that was what his groupies were probably for. He probably kept them on a rotating schedule because despite the fact that the magazines had been bereft of any information on Potter's love life (seriously, nothing, well except for the brief mention of a date with a rather unattractive and no doubt tedious witch…not that Draco had been looking of course), he just knew that Potter had to be a slut. There was no way the man could uphold a relationship, given the hours he worked and then all the time he had been spending at Draco's flat lately. Thus, he concluded, Potter had to be a slut, getting his clocks fixed and then picking up any easy adoring fan that pricked his fancy on his way home. He probably even called out the wrong name when he came, with his eyes closed, and sweat sliding down his back.

 

Draco scolded, his fingers curling harshly around the menu. Just figures Potter would get whatever he wanted when Draco hadn't been with anyone in...hell, he couldn't even remember.

 

"Sometimes but I like wanking in the shower better, it's more...slippery."

 

Draco choked on his intake of air and looked sharply up, fighting a flush as he was unwillingly forced to picture Potter in the shower, with his fist around his own cock, and his head leaning against the slippery tiling. He probably bit his lip while he slid his fingers over himself and groaned excessively, considering how loud Potter always was. "Slippery?" He heard himself repeat and immediately wanted to curl up into a ball and die out of embarrassment as Potter cocked his head and smirked, like he could see into Draco's crass thoughts.

 

Potter licked his too red lips and opened his mouth, only to be thankfully silenced before he could speak by the arrival of their waitress. Draco ducked his head, hiding his flushed cheeks as he tried to get his heartbeat under control. Potter's voice was cool and collected as he ordered a bottle of wine and after getting a quick nod of agreement from Draco some appetizer that he honestly couldn't remember the name of. Or if he even liked it. But that didn't matter, getting his breathing under control mattered, and getting the image of a wet naked Potter out of his mind mattered, and remembering why the hell he was even here mattered, and that was all.

 

Draco knew Potter tended to make his mind degrade into mush, the longer he was in his company the worse it got and Draco couldn't stand it. He wasn't going to be a blushing idiot all night, he would pitch his ideas as quickly as possible and leave, this had been a bad idea to begin with. He never went to dinner with any of his other clients, it was unnecessary.

 

He had clocks to fix and a good book waiting for him at home. And wine. Lots of wine, until he passed out and dreamed of...bollocks.

 

But getting to the point with Potter was never an easy task. The man was particularly difficult to make concentrate, he was just so...chatty and not in the clumsy way he used to be when he was younger. He talked with a carefree cadence to his tone as he leaned back in his chair and watched Draco with his eerily green eyes as the clockmaker tried to focus and not reach across the table and throttle him or slap him or maybe just trace his lips with his thumb...

 

It was irksome how he couldn't seem to stop staring at Potter's mouth while he was speaking.

 

"So Giles filed the report, actually claiming that I had deliberately put his life in danger."

 

"Your new partner?" Draco asked, toying with the stem of his wine glass and furrowing his brow as he stared down into its blood red depths, trying to remember how he knew that.

 

Actually he knew more than that. He knew Giles had been assigned to Potter a month ago after Weasley had up and decided to retire in order to help his brother (George maybe?) out at his shop. He somehow knew that Giles was younger, just out of training, and liked to second guess everything Potter did. He also knew that Giles was jealous of Potter, even though the older Auror never hinted at it, just like he knew that Potter would give everything he had in helping the little git become a skilled member of the team.

 

Because Potter was a noble idiot.

 

Draco had never met this Giles but he didn't have to, to know he didn't like him. The blighter had put his partner’s life in needless danger more than a dozen times already and Draco could vividly remember the time Potter had come over with a long cut from his temple all the way down to the middle of his sternum. He had brushed it off as nothing but the story of how he got it while attempting to capture some nefarious dark wizard still chilled Draco to the bone.

 

Then there was the awkward moment where Draco tried to heal it and when he had placed his hand against Potter's chest, the other man had spilled his tea all over his lap which had caused him to leap up, sending them both toppling to the floor with Draco smashed into the ground under him. He had found himself staring at Potter's mouth then too, despite the fact that Potter hadn't been speaking, he had just been breathing heavily - panting really. Panting and staring and so bloody heavy before Draco finally regained himself and shoved him off, scoffing offhandedly about Potter's klutziness and how it would surely kill them both one day.

 

It was probably a good thing he hadn't actually met Giles, he had a feeling the other man wouldn't survive the experience.

 

"Yeah." Potter beamed, pausing briefly as he contemplated Draco and took a sip of his wine. "Anyway he's pushing for Robards to desk me."

 

"Desk you?"

 

"Take me off field duty and make me a paper pusher."

 

Draco snorted as he set his wine glass back down. "He's not all that bright is he?"

 

"Why do you say that?" He looked honestly curious, his dark hair framing his bright eyes and making a little shiver pass down Draco's spine despite the owlish blinking. 

 

"Because you're the Ministries Golden Boy, they wouldn't dare." Draco explained. "I think you really should ask for a new partner though, this Giles fellow is going to get you killed or he'll just do it himself. In fact I wouldn't stand too close to any cliffs near him or drink anything he gives you if I were you."

 

"Worried for my safety Malfoy?" Potter leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table again and bringing himself too close for Draco's liking, the table seeming suddenly much too small.

 

"Of course, you're financing my retirement remember?" He replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Can't have you dying before you make me the richest man on the Continent."

 

"You're already rich." Potter pointed out and Draco felt his foot brush against his own once more - honestly how could Potter be so utterly unaware of his surroundings? He was surprised the man didn't just trip and fall into the wizards he was chasing and accidentally arrest them. Maybe he found them while they were dinning and just kicked them until they turned themselves in.

 

"One can always be richer." Draco tried not to smile as Potter chuckled but it was starting to get difficult with the wine warming in his stomach and the room cast in the soft glow of dimmed lights and Potter's damn foot that was constantly following his around under the table.

 

Not to mention Potter looked, well, good. Infuriatingly so. Draco firmly believed that Potter had absolutely no business being attractive, it just wasn't fair for him to be.

 

Potter ran a hand through his hair, his finger lingering momentarily over his lightning scar. "Money's not everything, there must be something more you want."

 

Draco suddenly felt hot all over, his throat oddly tight, the tone of Potter's voice doing funny things to his nerves and making him think without any real direction to his thoughts that, yes there was something more he wanted. Not that he could have it. "What more could I possibly want Potter?" He said instead, arching an eyebrow.

 

"I don't know." Potter replied slowly, staring at him like he did know but just wasn't telling him, which was just unacceptable. "Do you remember a few years ago when we ran into each other in a pub?"

 

"No." He lied, shifting in his seat and frowning. Potter wasn't supposed to bring that night up...ever. Honestly did the man have no tact whatsoever?

 

"Really?" Potter smirked, looking like he was already enjoying this way too much. "You don't remember getting pissed drunk and falling on our arses on the street?"

 

"You fell." Draco corrected before he could stop himself. "And ripped my favorite robe in the process."

 

"So you do remember?"

 

"Vaguely." Draco scowled. "You being the sodding drunk you were and the fact that you wouldn't let go of my arm, I was forced to take you home and return you to your girlfriend." And Merlin was that terrifying. The youngest Weasley had folded her arms over her bathrobe clad chest and glared like it was Draco's fault that her boyfriend was in such a state and whining about not wanting to be home. "What does this have to do with anything?"

 

"I broke up with Ginny that night." Potter confessed and Draco felt something stir inside him, almost like he could still feel Potter plastered to his side and slurring in his ear entirely inappropriate things. Of course he had been delusional then and Draco had always highly doubted that Potter even knew it was him he was saying those things to. He doubted he even remembered now, if he did Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt that Potter wouldn't be bringing that night up.

 

No sane man would. Telling your childhood nemesis that you loved their arse and wanted to lick it was just much too embarrassing to ever live through, Potter had to have blocked it from his memory as Draco himself tried to do.

 

"You broke up with her when you were stumbling drunk?" Draco snorted. "Classy Potter."

 

Potter shook his head and glanced down into his wine glass with a faraway look. "Didn't have much of a choice. After you dragged me through the door and basically dropped me onto the floor at her feet we got into a fight."

 

"Are you trying to blame me for your failed relationship?" Draco drawled, growing increasingly annoyed and uncomfortable with the conversation. There was a reason he didn't think about that night, a reason he didn't let himself dwell on the things Potter had said and the way his hands had wandered.

 

And it was a good reason, a very, very good reason that he had sworn never to forget.

 

He laughed. "No...but yes?"

 

"Merlin Potter, you make very little sense most the time did you know?"

 

"I mean that night kind of lit a fire under my arse and I realized that I was just...settling. I was settling for Ginny, I was settling in my job, I was bored...hell I was boring."

 

"You're still boring Potter."

 

He grinned. "You think?" He winked with a twinkling eye that had Draco frowning and gripping his glass much too tightly. "Anyway I guess, in a way, it was all because of you, so...I wanted to thank you for...kicking me back into living. You've always been good at that."

 

"At kicking you? I suppose you could say-"

 

"No you prat, at getting through the haze I had been walking around in after the war ended." Potter was still smiling, still talking like Draco had actually done something instead of having just drunk himself silly while in the others company. "Not to mention that relationship had been doomed..."

 

"Of course it had been doomed, no one ever marries their school yard sweetheart."

 

"Ron married Hermione." Potter pointed out, sounding a bit defensive for some reason.

 

"Well their abnormal and hardly a good example."

 

"True, but that's not why it wouldn't have worked out between Gin and -"

 

"Stop right there Potter." Draco interrupted, having no intention whatsoever in hearing all the drama surrounding Potter's no doubt heart shattering decision to end his blissful life with the ginger shrew. "It may be hard to believe but I do not pride myself on making my old school mates break up with their girlfriends after getting them slobbering drunk and forcing them to stop dancing on table tops, nor do I care to hear all the dirty details years later." Draco huffed, feeling vastly aggravated at this turn of events for some reason.

 

What the hell was Potter thinking, thanking him for...he didn't ever know. For making him live again? What did that even mean? How was he not living before? And he couldn't have caused that much of a change in the other man, if he had wouldn't Potter have done more than simply nod in his general direction the next time they had come across each other?

 

If he had meant those things he said that night, or hell even remembered them, wouldn't there have been something...more?

 

"I didn't dance on tables." Potter looked horrified, eyes wide with denial.

 

"You did, it was a scaring experience for many involved, myself included."

 

"Oh god." He groaned, taking a long drink from his glass. "I don't remember that, please say that's the only foolish thing I did."

 

Draco swallowed, his memory bombarded with the walk to Potter's flat that night. The arse licking comment had only been the tip of the iceberg, in fact Draco was positive that he had never heard so many filthy things uttered in his life, the fact that they were addressed to him just proving the fact that Potter was so far gone that he had apparently gone blind and had forgotten who he was clutching. He was blessedly saved from having to answer though as their waitress appeared with their dinner, sliding a delicious smelling fisherman's pie in front of him and a greasy looking beef sandwich in front of Potter.

 

He steered the conversation away from that fateful night after they found themselves alone again, talking about far safer topics as they ate, Draco growing increasingly aware of Potter's solid presence. The man exuded energy, like he could barely keep it contained within himself, he shifted in his seat, tapped his fingers and feet, all while watching Draco with an intensity that seemed to exceed the electric buzz in his veins. They had gone through the entire bottle of wine and then some by the time their food was finished and Draco could feel a matching warm flush on his cheeks that he could see on Potter's slightly darker but still pale complexion.

 

Which probably wasn't the wisest of decisions considering what happened the last time they had gotten drunk together.

 

It was when the plates had been cleared and the conversation had become somewhat stilted with long stares that Draco's brain was having a hard processing, that he finally remembered why they had met up in the first place - and it wasn't to go up into the loft and dance like Potter was starting to hint at. Merlin help him if he ended up actually dancing with Potter. Grabbing his portfolio, he slid it across the table, leaning back in his chair as Potter flipped it open with great fascination and enthusiasm.

 

"These are amazing." He grinned as he looked through them all. He ran his fingers over the carefully sketched drawings, smiled his charming smile that no doubt melted his groupie’s hearts, said something about Draco's amazing skills as a clockmaker, and then flicked the portfolio closed without making any sort of decision. He drummed his fingers over the top of the black casing as he cocked his head and asked Draco question after question about pocket watches and how he had come up with the designs and which one did he like best and on and on before sliding from his seat with a quick promise to return and disappearing between the tables.

 

Draco watched him walk away, his eyes lingering on his arse that seemed to swing a bit more than normal with each step...not that he knew what Potter's arse typically looked like when he walked. But it was hypnotizing now and Draco blinked, trying to clear away the fog that was bent on overtaking his mind but when he opened his eyes they were still on Potter's arse and his throat was still dry and his chest seemed oddly tight along with his pants. He frowned, tearing his eyes away and down to his own hands.

 

He was not getting hard staring at Potter. He simply refused. And if he was well then that just proved that he needed to get out more because he obviously was desperate for sex. Really he would take it anywhere, even upstairs where he could hear the music pumping, there had to be a bathroom up there with a toilet stall where he could snag someone and drag them into it. He really didn't care who tonight, man or woman, whoever caught his fancy as long as they were nice to look at...preferably with dark hair and light eyes though. And broad shoulders and a muscular but lean build and...

 

"Ready?"

 

Draco jolted out of his daydream as Potter materialized next to their table, a black wool jacket over his arm. "What?" His croak was a little undignified as he tried desperately to will away his untimely erection.

 

"You said you needed to get going..." Potter looked momentarily confused, sliding his gaze over Draco's face like maybe he thought he had somehow gotten deliriously drunk without him noticing. "I already paid so we can leave unless you changed your mind?" He asked, sounding a bit hopeful.

 

"Oh right, of course. Let’s go." Grabbing his portfolio and winding his scarf back around his neck, they stepped back out onto the sidewalk, hands in their pockets and feet in synchronized steps as they made their way down the street and towards Draco's flat - despite the fact that he was pretty sure Potter lived in the opposite direction.

 

But he didn't comment on it, instead he let himself settle into the rhythm of their pace, listening to Potter's soft voice in the night and shocking himself when he realized that he was smiling without really even noticing it and laughing softly at the things Potter was saying.

 

Potter would nudge his shoulder and he'd nudge back, Potter would laugh and he would chuckle lightly, Potter would tilt his head and smile at him as he eyed him from the corner of his vision and Draco would fight his own grin as he caught his sideways look. And for some completely unexplainable reason he found himself wondering what Potter's hand would feel like if he were to reach over the few inches between them and lace their fingers together.

 

 

He felt oddly warm all over, inside and out, happy in a way he couldn't remember feeling in a long time. Though the feeling quickly started balling up uncomfortably in his stomach as they ascended the stairs, a silence stretching taunt and heavy between them, settling around and invading every ounce of his being as they paused in front of his door.

 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? They weren't on a date, they weren't even friends really, and yet here they were, Potter staring expectantly at him like he was waiting for something. "Potter -"

 

"I had a really great time." He interrupted him, carding a hard through his messy curls and doing the whole biting his lip while smiling thing that was starting to make butterflies take flight in Draco's stomach every time he saw it for some reason. He honestly had no clue why, maybe because it made him look vulnerable...open in a way that Potter shouldn't be.

 

Not in front of Draco anyway.

 

"Did you make a decision?" He asked, clearing his voice when it came out a tad too scratchy sounding.

 

Potter furrowed his brow. "About what?"

 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly Potter. The pocket watch, you know the whole reason for this evening? Did you pick a design?"

 

"Erm." He rubbed his neck and peaked bashfully up at him through his hair. "No."

 

"Do you enjoy wasting my time?" Draco snapped, unlocking his door and swinging it sharply open, not completely sure why he was so upset. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they had been out for hours, talked about things Draco swore never to even think about, and then Potter hadn't even had the decency to spare a moment for what they had met up for in the first place.

 

Not to mention that walk had been unnerving, because Merlin since when did he start wanting to hold bloody Potter's hand?

 

"I am busy you know." He flung his jacket off, feeling an anger rise in his veins as Potter took up his usual place of leaning against his door jam. "Just what the hell were you thinking about all night that you couldn't give two seconds to picking one of the designs I've spent hours on for you?"

 

Then Potter did the most annoying, incredulous thing he could possibly do in such a moment.

 

He laughed. And not a soft laugh but an outright, something is really funny but I’m not going to tell you, sort of laugh. Draco bristled, his face contorting in rage at the wasted night that was really just confusing on so many levels that he couldn’t even begin to sort it out.

 

“Tell you what.” Potter said, snatching Draco’s wrist and using it to keep him from stomping off into the flat like he was planning on. He glared and stumbled a step as Potter had the audacity to pull, propelling him towards the grinning lunatic. “I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking tomorrow, round lunch?”

 

Draco opened his mouth to protest and demand an answer now but then Potter bit his damn lip while he smiled again, setting off a storm in Draco’s nervous center that preceded to reached a fever pitch when the darker man reached out and fiddled with the loop of scarf closest to his neck, his fingers brushing the hollow of his throat.

 

“I have to work.” He mumbled then frowned, that did not sound like it him, it was too breathy but Potter was still holding his wrist and his fingers were so hot it was distracting – sending little spikes of something across his skin.

 

Potter leaned forward and Draco wished wholeheartedly he could get his body to start cooperating because he really wanted to yank his hand free and take a step back. But he couldn’t, he was stuck and now Potter’s face was entirely too close. Why he could nearly taste the others lips like they were already on his own.

 

Not that he wanted to, they probably tasted horrible, but god did they look soft.

 

“1:00 it is then.” Potter nodded, completely ignoring what Draco had actually said, and with one last lingering gaze as his thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of the blonds wrist, finally released his grip. “See you.” He waved goodbye and turned sharply on his heel, whistling softly to himself as he swayed with the composure of someone who had just a touch too much to drink down the hall.

 

Since when did Potter learn how to be mysterious and coy? And when exactly did his touch start feeling like dipping your hand in hot wax only to have it licked off on a cool day? Not that he had ever had hot wax licked off his wrist before but still…

 

And now Potter was gone and Draco was left alone once more, staring down the empty hall and touching his own wrist lightly where Potter had gripped him, wondering why his chest felt like someone was sitting on it.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco stared down at the pocket watch lying so innocently on his workbench. It was a tarnished bronze piece with the DM carved beautifully into its surface – perfectly round, perfectly sculpted, the gears inside in perfect working order. And yet, the nearly silent tick tick was gone, had been for years, the glass covering the clock face broken with spidery cracks, the hands frozen in place.

 

With a deep breath, Draco lifted his wand and tapped the splintered glass, watching as it shivered and flowed back together, sealing up the evidence of his weakness and erasing it from existence. All that was left from that day were the hands stuck in that horrible hour now. He knew he needed to remedy that too, that he needed to pull it open and set the clock ticking once more. He didn’t need any mementos of the war.

 

It was a foolish thing wasn’t it? Keeping the pocket watch all these years. He had a horrible feeling that it was tethering him to Potter in some unknowable way. He couldn’t really explain it, it was just…a feeling. But he needed to let it go, because sooner rather than later Potter would give up on his new clock obsession and Draco would go back to only ever passing him on the street with vague nods in each other’s directions.

 

He frowned at his dreary thoughts. He had been in a mood for days - four to be exact - and it was truly upsetting that the cause of his sour attitude had to do with a certain messy haired Auror who hadn't shown up on Saturday like he said he would. Draco couldn't abide by the fact that he had been stood up, in fact when 1:00 came and went he was so sure that Potter was just running late that he had hastily cast a warming charm over their mugs of tea he had prepared. Then the afternoon passed into evening and the evening passed into the next morning and before he knew it several days had passed without so much as a note of explanation.

 

And Draco was forced to come to the realization that the day had come that he always knew would. Potter wasn't coming back.

 

With a frustrated growl Draco slipped the damaged watch into his pocket and fitted the goggles back over his tired eyes. Thinking about Potter was a pointless endeavor and one he had vowed to cut out completely, all things considered. Dipping his fingers into a pot of slippery black grease of his own design, he rubbed his thumb over the pads of his other digits as he studied the broken mantel clock that laid disassembled before him.

 

He really should have had it fixed weeks ago but he had been duly distracted and now he was aggravatingly behind schedule, something he prided himself on never being. Adjusting the sight on his goggles, he reached forward and removed the foremost gear, laying it gingerly aside as a web of translucent color wavered over the inner workings of the clock. Steadying his breath, he reached carefully forward and ran his index finger along one of the pulsing strings, watching it dissolve under his touch, unwinding itself from where it was embedded.

 

Wizard clocks were the hardest to repair, especially the old ones that had been handed down from family to family. They were so deeply embedded with so many layers of different magical signatures and additions that it made the work of repairing it slow and tedious, one false step setting him back hours. Blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, he pulled the second gear free, opening up the heart of the old family heirloom and smiled faintly – using the grease on his fingers to stick his hair back out of his face as it had the audacity to fall forward again.

 

He really didn't know why Potter not showing up was such a shock to his system. That had been what he wanted, wasn't it? To go back to his everyday life without the crazed man constantly popping up at his door, laden down with tea and food and pointless conversation. Now that he thought about it he had been spending far too much time with him to the exclusion of pretty much everything else, hell Potter had taken to even showing up before his pick-up days to...well Draco wasn't really sure what for but it had obviously become a habit of his, one Draco hadn't even really thought too much on - other than that is was annoying and disruptive - until Potter was no longer there.

 

But his tea was, a box of Potter's favorite brand sitting innocently on his shelf next to his preferred ones.

 

There was also the empty stool he had begrudging conjured one afternoon so Potter had somewhere to sit other than perching too close to Draco on his workbench.

 

He was sure the stool and tea were mocking him now, in a way only inanimate objects could. It was a clear reminder of how much he had let Potter worm his way into Draco's life. Really it was his own fault for not throwing him out that first day he had shown up with the broken wristwatch. But he wouldn't make the same mistake twice he was certain, he didn't care how upset Potter might look if he ever deemed to show up - the blasted man was not setting foot in his flat again because Draco had been wrong, Potter wasn't like the flu, he was more like the plague.

 

And plagues killed.

 

Draco just never thought Potter's absence would be what sent the nail through his already slivered heart. Maybe that had been Potter's plan all along, to what purpose Draco had absolutely no clue but that hardly mattered now.

 

He felt...lonely and not in the good way he used to think of the word. Now everything was just sort of empty and he looked at everything with just a hint more bitterness than previously. He hated Potter for that.

 

"Damn it." He cursed under his breath as his finger slipped and the wire sprang back, casting sparks of red and yellow, a shower of the now damaged spell that he would have to rework. 

 

But it was for the best, Potter had clearly become an unwarranted distraction. Plus now he was mopey and that was just unbecoming. Malfoy's did not mope. And he didn't miss Potter, he reminded himself yet again, he just hated having been made a fool of. Because that was what he was now, a fool. Honestly what had he been thinking, that Potter actually wanted to be…something?

 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head sharply down onto his bench as he thought back to how Potter had asked about him wanting something more. He could have sworn he had seen something in Potter's gaze then, heard something in his voice, and then at the end of the evening...

 

He lifted his head a fraction and banged it back down in punishment for letting his mind wander off again. God he was pathetic.

 

Potter had just been a client. That was it. No use crying over spilled milk as they said...not that he ever cried for Merlin's sake, he wasn't that much of a nutter, he was just... "Oh god." He groaned. "He's turned me into one of his groupies." Nearly five months of the git's company and he had been reduced to this.

 

It was unacceptable, it was...

 

Draco's head snapped up at the sharp knock at his door, frowning at the naked expanse of wood that was vibrating a little with each crack of the invisible fist on the other side. He stared at it a moment longer, swearing silently at himself at the little leap of hope he had felt bloom in his chest for a split second. But of course it wasn't Potter, not that he would have answered it if it was. No it had to be someone else, Potter had a very specific knock - loud and fast, then a pause, then soft, then loud and fast again, like he couldn't remember if he had actually knocked or had just thought about doing it. 

 

Pushing his goggles onto his forehead, Draco slowly stood, raking his brain for who it could possibly be. New clients usually sent letters first and he wasn't due for a pickup until tomorrow. Pulling the door opened revealed the last person he would have ever expected to show up at his flat.

 

"Weasley?" He asked, squinting his eyes because he was sure they were playing tricks on him and the freckly redhead wasn't actually standing on the other side of his door with his hands shoved in his pockets and a thick black cotton cap shoved nearly down to his eyes on his head.

 

"Er yeah, hey Malfoy." Weasley gave a weak smile as his deep blue eyes skirted over Draco's face like he couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to actually look at him or not.

 

Draco blinked but no he was still there, still fidgeting, still very much redheaded and tall. Like a freaking giant, filling up his door as if he was a lumbering werewolf, the expression on his face very close to what he assumed was the Weasley version of a grimace or maybe it was a sneer...

 

"What do you want?" He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his brain worked quickly. Just what the hell was Weasley doing? He didn't talk to Draco, they didn't even nod on the street like he used to do with Potter. Which could only mean he was here for one reason, or more accurately because of a specific someone. Someone Draco had absolutely no interest in ever seeing again.

 

Or hearing about for that matter.

 

"Polite as ever I see." Weasley grumbled, shifting awkwardly on his feet, like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. "Look, Harry asked me t-"

 

Draco slammed the door in his face, feeling a surge of accomplishment at the muffled shout of indignation. He was through with Potter, he wouldn't give the bastard another chance to torment him. Besides Potter was obviously a coward, sending his friend to...what? Tell him he didn't want Draco to fix his massive amount of broken clocks? That he was going to go drink tea elsewhere? That he never wanted to lay his eyes on Draco's bugged out, goggled adorned head again? He didn't give a damn why Potter hadn't shown and he didn't want to hear the excuses. Though really, if he was honest with himself, he would admit that that wasn't really true, he did care - he cared far too deeply.

 

But he was a Malfoy and therefore not honest with himself. Honesty was overrated anyway.

 

Turning back towards his workbench, he ignored the thump on his door and only scowled mildly down at his work when the wood swung back open to reveal a fuming Weasley with his wand held firmly in his hand. "You're a right git you know that?"

 

"Yes." Draco lifted an eyebrow in his direction before very carefully and purposely turning his attention back to his work - essentially dismissing the other man without a word.

 

Of course he didn't take the hint, penniless sod that he was.

 

"I don't get what Harry sees in you." Weasley very nearly growled and Draco wanted very much to point out that Potter obviously didn't see anything in him or he wouldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth without a word - though logic would say that it had only been four days.

 

But much like honesty, logic wasn't something Draco really cared to think about at the moment.

 

"The feeling is mutual. Now if you'd please leave, I have absolutely no desire to hear what Potter has to say." Draco knew he sounded hard and cold, masked perfectly to reflect none of what he had been feeling the last few days. He was rather proud of that, considering even his blasted mirror had started asking him what was wrong. But it only took a second for a crack to form as he looked back up at Weasley's silence to find the other man staring at his coat rack.

 

Or more accurately at Potter's jumper hanging on his coat rack. He had forgotten about that. Potter had always been complaining about the temperature Draco kept the room until one day he had brought it over with him and then just left it when he went home so that he'd have it next time. It was a homely, ugly, far too loose crimson jumper that looked hand knitted and even had a little golden H on the right breast.

 

He wholeheartedly suspected that it was Weasley-made.

 

Draco both hated and liked when Potter put it on, as it did funny things to his nerves whenever Potter slipped it over his shoulders and then settled down on Draco's couch, flipping through whatever book had been left on the coffee table the night before. Potter would even read out loud to him sometimes when he was behind schedule and had to work late. He liked that, it made him work faster and eased the tension in his back and shoulders - Potter's voice reminding him of thick honey, warm and sweet and yet with just enough bite to it to make him sound commanding. He especially liked to listen to it after Potter had worked a long day, his voice taking on a gravely sort of quality that should have grated his nerves raw but instead just tended to make something hot pool in his stomach.

 

Of course now several of his books were ruined, the pages dog eared carelessly as Potter had an uncanny ability of losing the bookmark between the time he opened and closed it.

 

Draco glared at the hideous thing now. "And take that thing with you." He snapped, feeling vastly annoyed at yet another reminder of Potter's ridiculous presence in his life that was now gone. 

 

Weasley shook his head, glancing quickly around the workshop before leveling his gaze on Draco with a strange look on his face, as if he was in physical pain just thinking about the words he was going to say. "I was supposed to come by earlier but something came up and I-"

 

"Do you have dust in your ears?"

 

"Harry's in the hospital."

 

It was Tuesday at 3:20 that Draco felt time freeze all over again. "He's...what?" He asked very quietly, back rigid, heart stopped, the very air in the room little particles of ice that he could very nearly see. He blinked and saw Potter like death in Hagrid's arms, blinked again and saw his empty jumper. Ugly and really only fit for a shrew when it was hanging on his coat rack but somehow perfect the moment it rested over Potter's frame.

 

He saw Potter with the sleeves too big around his hands, his fingers curled around a mug of hot tea, his vivid green eyes staring at him from over the rim. He saw Potter smile with his red, wet lips, heard him clear his voice and ask about Draco's day. He felt Potter's touch that liked to linger either on his door frame or Draco's own shoulder or wrist when he said goodbye, a touch that was always confusing and aggravatingly wonderful at the same time.

 

"He's fine." Weasley rushed to add but it was too late, Draco already felt the splinters shatter in his heart and the blood was rushing so loudly in his ears he could barely make the former Auror's words out. "He was called into work late Friday night. There was a lead on a case he's been working on -"

 

"The Gammett case?" Draco's voice sounded small and disjointed as his mind worked to keep up and dislodge from the track that it was plummeting down.

 

He blinked and saw Potter walking down his hallway, promising to tell Draco what he'd been thinking all night next time, looking both shy and confident, sultry and boyish. He blinked and wondered just when Potter had become a staple in his life he couldn't image living without.

 

Weasley stopped and stared uncertainly back at Draco. "Umm yeah. He met his partner at the location he'd been sent...the details are a bit vague but somehow he ended getting hit with a curse and falling out a window."

 

Falling out a window. A fucking window, just like his clock, and now Potter was...

 

He could see it all, happening in some demented slow motion skip film sketched out roughly with charcoals on yellowed parchment through his mind. He saw Potter with the ground rushing towards him, his eyes sprung wide, his breath caught in his chest that was constricted with pain, his hair tangling with the wind, limbs splayed wide and ghost like - perhaps flapping for purchase, perhaps limp as the day at Hogwarts ten years ago.

 

He saw the ground - cold, hard, solid. Draco shut his eyes and sucked in a breath, taking a moment to right his world again as it tipped around him. Unsteady footing, he didn't like that, it made him think of Voldemort.

 

"If he's fine then why is he in the hospital?" Draco snapped, rising quickly from his stool and marching towards his door. But he didn't give Weasley a chance to answer, instead he reached for his cloak, spotted Potter's jumper once more, withdrew his hand like it was fire lapping at his flesh, and quickly spun on the spot.

 

He needed to see him for himself, he needed to lay his eyes on Potter and see that he was indeed fine, otherwise he couldn't catch hold of the knowledge, not completely - he'd just keep replaying different scenarios of his fall over and over and over again. It was like his entire being had just been holding its breath for years, waiting for something to happen to Potter and now that it had he couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see the dark haired, annoyingly heroic wizard again.

 

People didn't cheat death, they could evade it for a time but it always comes knocking and Draco had the horrible sinking feeling that Potter had been playing hide and seek with the grim reaper for much too long as it was - Draco's broken pocket watch was proof of that fact.

 

His heart was in his throat as he stumbled a step after appearing in front of the rundown red-bricked building that housed St. Mungo's behind its condemned department store facade. It looked to be crumbling in several places, a cracked window directly to his right drawing his attention with a pounding in his chest. He hated hospitals and yet he hated the disguised outside even more. It seemed to shout all the sickness inside its magical walls from every inch of cracked brick and splintered glass.

 

"Come on, I'll take you to his room."

 

Draco nodded without glancing over at the sudden appearance of Weasley beside him, he couldn't even find it in himself to be properly annoyed that he had been followed.

 

Stepping through the window was a lurching, gut twisting experience, a tingling flowing all the way down his spine before the great white walls of the busy reception area came into focus. After being thoroughly searched by a bald wizard who seemed only able to glare as Draco grumbled and mildly threatened, he was pronounced safe and allowed to proceed.

 

Everything was very sterile, glaringly white, and smelled awfully like healing potions brewed in mass.

 

As Weasley led him through the floor and down the winding halls he told Draco what happened in a quiet calm voice, sounding as if the boy he once had been was nowhere to be found in this new man with his long confident steps and well...with the whole not screaming and punching Draco thing. The Weasley he knew liked to do that...a lot, with great volume and aplomb. It was odd, like time had sped up and Draco had been left stumbling along behind, caught up in old rivalries that apparently held no merit any longer.

 

He let the fleeting thought that perhaps Potter had been talking about him to his lifelong mate float through his mind before quickly shoving it away and concentrating on the information said mate was imparting - it didn't matter anyway what Potter had been saying about him, now did it?

 

Because apparently Potter had shown up alone (noble blighter) at the abandoned building in the dead of night (because why not? What's the worst that could happen?) after sending a quick notice to his Head of Department (a small consolation to his intelligence). He had made it all the way to the top of the tall building before getting hit in the back with what they think was a variation of Petrificus Totalus. He couldn't remember seeing or hearing anyone, all he could remember was seeing the flash of his partners face appearing out the window seconds after something sent him hurtling through the glass and towards the ground.

 

Potter had been disoriented and confused for two days - complete with lots of mumbling and twitchy eyed behavior.

 

Draco frowned, the story unsettling him for several reasons, the first and foremost being the absence of any other living soul. As much as he liked to pretend that Potter was a complete and utter idiotic lunatic, he knew Potter was exceptional at his job, and not in the 'all powerful, unstoppable force' kind of way the paper's liked to portray him as either. Potter was good at what he did because of his senses, of his gut instinct and reflexes, because he was always ready to dive in head long to do whatever needed to be done. Not to mention he had an insane ability to just know his surroundings when he was in Auror mode, hell he could catch anything Draco hurled at him without even looking - and Draco had tested that theory himself several times just to make sure it hadn't been a fluke when he had plucked the wrench flying towards his head out of thin air without even a twitch.

 

He couldn't have gotten caught off guard so easily, he would have noticed that something was off...

 

He shook his head and paused as Weasley walked straight past the lifts. "Shouldn't we go up?" He asked, vaguely remembering that Spell Damage was on the fourth floor.

 

Weasley smiled and shook his head. "Nah, he's in the Artifact Accidents wing."

 

"Artifact Accidents? Why would he be there?" Draco pressed a hand to his head, trying to still his spinning thoughts that kept going in circles so fast it was starting to make him slightly dizzy. The implausible story, combined with Potter's injuries, and the fact that he'd been in the hospital all this time while Draco had been silently cursing his grave was a bit too much.

 

"Well there's no getting shoved out a window ward now is there? Besides the Healers down here are the best at dealing with shattered bones."

 

"Shattered?" Draco croaked and then promptly felt his blood boil as a voice drifted down the hall towards them, all the pieces he had been trying to piece together coming into light like a punch to the gut.

 

Oh, Draco was going to murder him.

 

"It was a true tragedy but thank god I was there to stop them." The voice was squeaky and mousy and just dripped false niceties.

 

Draco cocked his head and took a step, holding his hand up to silence whatever thickheaded thing the youngest Weasley male was about to say.

 

"I managed to soften his landing just enough to save his life before I chased down the nasty wizards and captured them." The voice continued and Draco found his feet moving forwards like he was gliding on ice, even paced steps that seemed soundless and unconnected from the ground.

 

The hall stretched and stretched before him but his legs refused to move any faster, his ears refusing to hear whatever babble was happening behind him - something was pulling him forward towards the mousy voice that was speaking with such an air of superiority and nonchalance, as if Potter wasn't behind one of the many doors with fucking shattered bones.

 

Draco felt his jaw clench as he came round the corner and stepped into the outer circle of bodies with their flashing camera's and awed expressions of everlasting gratitude. And standing in the middle was a young man with cropped brown hair, a strong defiant jaw, freckled cheeks, and small brown eyes that were positively gleaming in the bright pops of light. 

 

God he even looked like an attention seeking imbecile, reminding Draco vaguely of Lockhart with all his fanfare and waving and illegible autographing.

 

The man grinned for a photo, winking exaggeratedly, before picking up his story once more. "They gave me quite the chase I'll tell you, nearly lost an eye, but they were no match for me. They had harmed my partner and I'd be damned if I let them escape." 

 

The crowd 'awed' and flashed their cameras, Weasley's soft snort barely registering in Draco's ear. "No match." The redhead grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the man posing and waving for the cameras. "He lost them in-route to the Ministry, bloody wanker."

 

"Lost them?" Draco glanced at Weasley from the corner of his eye just in time to catch the slight nod in response.

 

"If he ever really had them that is." The sound of knuckles cracking drew Draco's attention to Weasley's thick fingers as he clenched them at his sides, his tone almost a match for the anger Draco felt growing hotly inside him - and for the first time in his life he felt that maybe he and Weasley were on the exact same page. "He's been nearly camping out here ever since, retelling his story to anyone who cares to listen."

 

Looking back towards the center of the circle Draco felt something flare inside him, something he hadn't felt since the war or maybe not even then. This was different, it wasn't fear for his and his family’s life, nor was it rage at the degradation they had suffered. It wasn't even the same painful pulse that came thundering through his veins when he had been forced to hurt another living being. All he could think about was all the times Potter had shown up at his flat injured or exhausted or frustrated or bleeding without even remembering why.

 

All those incidents had had one thing, one person, in common.

 

Draco felt like a fine piece of polished wood snapping under the pressure of a constant weight. There was a thrumming flowing through his body and mind, a sharpness that felt needle fine and expansive as the sun at the same time, he felt like something foreign was overtaking him - pumping courage and anger and a fierce desire to protect through him. It grew and grew inside him as he shoved his way forward, glaring at the man looking weak in his Auror uniform, a uniform Draco highly doubted the man deserved.

 

"Auror Giles?" He asked, stopping directly in front of him, his slight height advantage giving him the perfect position to sneer down his nose at the slightly confused looking man.

 

"Yea." Giles replied, taking in Draco's smeared face, the one sleeve that was rolled up past his elbow, his dirty fingers, and stopping momentarily on the goggles perched atop his head before letting a cocky, amused smile turn his thin lips up. "And you're supposed to be?"

 

Draco didn't answer, instead he narrowed his eyes as he felt his nostrils flare and after taking a single moment to enjoy the flash of unease overtaking Giles' expression, slapped him hard across the face. It resounded like a loud crack throughout the hall, the reporter's falling instantly silent as all eyes turned to him, a sharp sting sending spikes of pins and needles aching through his palm and fingers.

 

Giles stumbled back a step, raising a hand to his throbbing cheek that had little black streaks contrasting the quickly blooming red. "What the -"

 

Draco took a step forward and back handed him across the opposite side of his face, grinning as the smaller man's head flung back sharply and his body hit the wall as he cursed loudly.

 

"Damn it!" Giles hollered, his eyes growing wide and mouth dropping open as he caught sight of Draco's hand with the tip of the Hawthorn length pointing straight at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He gasped, holding his cheek and nearly quacking against the wall. "S-someone do something!"

 

Draco snorted, a little sickened that the man cowering in front of him was a bloody Auror, supposedly one of the toughest trained and capable wizards around. "You are pathetic." He sneered and felt the muscles in his arm tense as a hex came to the tip of tongue.

 

But with a growl of suppressed energy and rage, Draco felt something strong and sure grasp his arm and knot in the back of his shirt at the same time, propelling him backwards as the silence erupted into shouts. The hall was filled with screams for answers, demands that Draco explain himself, his name beginning to surface from someone's mouth and passing like wildfire through the group, all the while Giles demanding retribution and whinging like the little maggot he was.

 

Draco grinned, catching Giles' terrified gaze before he was hauled around a corner and pushed roughly through a door. He decided that he liked this side of himself, liked the sting in his hand, liked the red palm print on the scumbags face, he liked actually doing something for once - not just talking or mocking or threatening but letting himself lash out and he briefly wondered if this was how Potter felt all the time.

 

It was...exhilarating. And painful. But exhilarating none the less. Though he may have broken a nail...

 

Sucking in a deep breath he managed to free himself, yanking away from Weasley's surprising strength, and gathering himself back up to his full height - wondering as he tried to force the malicious smile off his face if it would be a bit excessive to march back out and hit him again.

 

Probably.

 

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, his face a deep red, the black cap skewed on his head with thick strands of red hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. "You can't attack an Auror! Are you trying to get locked up?"

 

"He deserved it." Draco brushed his hands down his shirt, straightening the material the best he could. "He's responsible and nothing more than a slimy attention seeking whore. He hurt Potter. He deserves more than he got."

 

Weasley sighed and dragged the cap off his head, shoving it into the already rounded pocket of his robes. "We don't know that, not until Harry remembers everything a little more clearly."

 

"That's horse shit and if you had been doing what you're supposed to than none of this would have happened." Draco glowered, deciding to forgo trying to push down his anger and just let it run its course instead. Besides it wasn't untrue, it was Weasley's fault and if Draco was honest he would admit that he'd been mad at Potter's old partner for quite some time now. Wasn't he supposed to be unwavering loyal or some other Gryffindor lunacy that means that they will always have each other’s back?

 

"Me? What are you talking about?" Weasley sputtered.

 

"You left him to that nutter! You just had to quit and stick him with that raving windbag who obviously has it in for him." Draco felt his hands start shaking as he pocketed his wand and slowly advanced on the man staring open mouthed in disbelief at him.

 

"You're off the rocker Malfoy." Weasley glared and planted his feet. "And since when do you care what happens to Harry, huh? Why don't you explain that to me because I don't get it. Just what the hell has been going on with you two?"

 

"Pardon?" Draco stopped and felt his heart-rate slow dangerously in his chest.

 

"Do you know how many clocks he's purchased lately? He sees one in a shop and runs in to buy it without a second guess, he doesn't even like them, he's never bloody on time for Merlin's sake! I thought it was just another weird quirk of his you know? He does that sometimes...but then he started disappearing all the bloody time and I finally managed to drag it out of him - which was the most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with him mind you and that's counting the time he told that he was...and what do I find out? You, bloody fucking Malfoy, always comes down to you doesn't it?" Weasley spit out, looking mildly threatening and confused at the same time, like he'd been fighting with himself over this exact thing for weeks now.

 

It made no bloody sense, why would Potter...why would Weasley...just why? Draco raked his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, steadying his breathing and trying not to let himself...

 

"I don't see-" He didn't finish his sentence, unsure where he was even going with it, instead he just stares uncomfortably back at Weasley as said redhead shifts from foot to foot, eyes forced wide like he's trying his hardest not to blink and miss a second of whatever their discussing.

 

Though Draco's not entirely sure what they are talking about, not to mention that it's the most unnerving staring contest he's ever been a part of.

 

"Are you...is he?" Weasley stopped talking abruptly, looking as uncomfortable as Draco felt, his cheeks flushing deeply.

 

"You're articulation is dreadfully left wanting." Draco said with a voice that was too quiet for the high he still felt buzzing inside him. But it couldn't be help, everything seemed rather...precarious all of a sudden.

 

Weasley scolded and bunched his fist into the robes at his side. "You're going to make me say it?"

 

"Say what?" Draco stared forward, running his eyes over the lines of the other man's face and wondering just exactly when did all of this happen? How had he gone from just fixing Potter's clocks (that he apparently bought for the sole purpose to smash to bits), to expecting his company, to feeling completely wretched when he went four days without hearing from him, to attacking an Auror in front of the bloody press (who had damn camera's) with the sheer need to punish the man who had hurt his...Potter.

 

"Are you two-" Weasley stopped, swallowed sharply and shook his head before whispering the last word in a horse breath that seemed like it caused him some deep internal damage to actually get out his throat. "Shagging?" 

 

Draco shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face, feeling something squeeze in his chest in the general area of his ribcage that he firmly believed should never feel so compressed. It was terrifying and making his blood pump much too fast with a thick beat that fucking hurt. His life had been so simple, so straightforward, no questions, no uncertainty. And now there was tea he didn't care for in his cupboard, a stool that was too short for him at his workbench, a jumper he hated but loved on his coat stand, and nearly all his books were creased in the corners. But those weren’t even the most shocking things of all...

 

"Malfoy?"

 

He looked up to find Potter leaning heavily in the open door to one of the patients rooms. His face was pulled into a look of puzzlement, his hair bedraggled, dressed in the white pants and shirt designated to all patients by the hospital staff. He looked paler than usual, his jaw tense like he'd been gritting his teeth a lot over the last few days. But then as Draco stared - knowing perfectly well that his mouth was hanging just slightly open and his unnaturally wild eyes were glued to Potter's face and that his traitorous hands were unsteady at his sides - Potter cocked his head and did the whole slow biting-his-lip-while-smiling thing and Draco felt all the air leave him.

 

Sweet fucking Merlin.

 

Was it possible to have fallen in love without even knowing how or when it happened? With Harry Potter no less.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco was ranting.

 

He knew this, knew that in all likely hood he wasn't even making all that much sense as he paced back and forth in the little hospital room but it had just come spilling out the moment Potter had shut the door behind them and he just couldn't stop. Potter was sitting on the edge of the bed with its white sheets and white pillows and wearing that bloody white uniform that made his hair seem so black that it resembled a black hole and eyes so green that Draco had to look away every time he accidentally caught them in his gaze.

 

And he was biting his damn lip and smiling his damn little smile and just sitting there and listening and watching, like Draco wasn't ragging on him but merely discussing the bloody weather or what they should have for dinner. But Potter also looked exhausted and in pain and his bare feet kept twitching against the white tiled floor (honestly what was with all the damn white!) and Draco just kept ranting.

 

" - Of all the inhuman, stupid, completely mental things -"

 

It was easier than facing the real issues, like the nagging thought that Weasley was under the impression that they were shagging and that Draco just now realized he was hopelessly in love with the infuriating git - not to mention that they were in the hospital because someone had just tried to kill Potter. No not someone, his partner, the man who was supposed to support and protect Potter, not...

 

"I told you not to stand next to any cliffs!" Draco shouted, his feet slapping against the tile as he spun and started back the way he had just come.

 

"It was a window actually." Potter corrected, speaking for the first time in several long minutes.

 

"But did you listen? No! And look at you, you almost lost an arm." Draco ignored him in pursuit of getting his point across.

 

"Legs."

 

"Whatever, the point is that you obviously have no respect for your own life."

 

Potter reached out and caught his hand with surprising speed for someone still in the process of reforming some of their bones, stopping Draco in his tracks. "Malfoy." He said quietly, peering up at him with a soft expression that tugged at Draco's heart and made him blink back the rising need to step forward and touch the other man with his fingers that wouldn't stop trembling.

 

Merlin he felt weak.

 

He continued ranting to counteract the unsettling feeling.

 

" - You are not bloody immortal Potter, no matter how much you might think yourself to be. You are not to go jumping out windows -" He really wasn't too sure what was fumbling out of his mouth anymore but he needed to keep talking, needed Potter to realize that he couldn't be so carefree with his life. Potter had to keep living so time could keep ticking, otherwise Draco feared that he'd spend the rest of his days staring at broken clockwork, completely unable to do anything about it, never able to set them right again.

 

Besides someone had to drink the tea in his cupboard after all and Draco firmly believed that someone should be Potter, considering that it was his blasted brand that was taking up precious space.

 

"Malfoy." Potter said again, even softer this time with a smile that was threatening to turn into a grin.

 

The almost-grin set him on edge, making him feel like he was walking on tiptoes across the ridgepole of the run down cottage on the Manor's extensive property. One false step and he would tumble to the earth below and earn his own shattered bones.

 

" - That Giles needs to be sent to Azkaban and you ought to go with him because only a raving lunatic would - oomph!" Draco fell sharply forward as Potter yanked on his hand and swept his foot under Draco's heel at the same time, twisting him with ease that could only come from years of experience so that he landed on his back beside Potter on the small bed. "Potter!" He shrieked, red cheeked and trying to ignore the leg that was tangled with his and the firm hand that was keeping him pressed to the mattress.

 

Honestly Potter had no right being so strong while he was supposedly healing.

 

"Draco." Potter leaned over him, the blonde’s given name rolling off his tongue in a way Draco could only describe as obscene. "Are you done yet?"

 

"No." Draco snapped, pressing his head back into the bedding in an attempt to put some distance between them, praying to whatever deity would listen that Potter couldn't feel the beat of his heart. Although logically he probably shouldn't have been trying to sink into the bed but instead working on throwing Potter off and storming out of the room on principle of being manhandled. 

 

But he didn't and he didn't want to think about why, not with Potter smelling well, like Potter. And he had missed it - blasted man that he was. Draco hated missing silly things like people, it made him feel like a Hufflepuff.

 

"You obviously have a death wish and need thorough and extensive therapy. Maybe for years. Perhaps decades even." Potter smiled and Draco frowned, realizing with a little panic that Potter was holding his wrist with a consistent pressure, his pulse jumping maddeningly beneath his fingers. He felt utterly trapped, hot all over with a fog rolling into his brain to warp his thoughts. "Like starting right now Potter so if -"

 

"You're really cute when you’re nervous you know." Potter interjected as Draco gaped, opening his mouth to immediately refute the fact but he was silenced once more with a little squeeze of his wrist. "Your neck gets all pink and your eyes look like a rain storm but mostly I like the fact that you rattle off nonsense instead of admitting that you were worried about me."

 

"Hardly worried." He grumbled.

 

"Oh?" Potter shifted, bringing his thigh between Draco's legs in a much too intimate way for Draco's liking as he tried desperately to think of every disgusting thing that he could to force his body not to react to the solid warm pressure. "So you didn't just rush down here covered in grease and your working clothes," he paused and grinned at Draco's forehead, "and your goggles?"

 

Draco glared, acutely embarrassed suddenly of his appearance and fighting off the urge to reach up and yank his goggles off. "Weasley dragged me."

 

"Sure he did."

 

"Actually I came to make sure you hadn't died." Draco set his jaw in defiance, deciding that he needed a new tactic, considering that Weasley would probably never drag him anywhere for any reason whatsoever.

 

Potter tipped his head and breathed deeply, his chest rubbing against Draco's and making stupid butterflies take flight in his stomach. "See, worried." He murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself.

 

"Yes, for my income, not for you." Draco bit the inside of the cheek as Potter shifted again, pressing his thigh against his crotch - and that had to be on purpose - a mortified flush rising up his neck as he felt his blood rush south and begin swelling in an area that he really didn't want swelling.

 

Draco's eye's fluttered and Potter smirked, the bastard, leaving Draco to wonder after his own sanity of falling for such a man who liked to grind their...ex rival...into a hospital bed. He struggled for control, for not slipping under, uncertain just where all this was going. Plus Draco wasn't certain how he felt about being in love with the nutter, he needed time to think on it - well actually he needed time to get completely wasted and then do something reckless and then force himself to forget about Potter.

 

Because Potter...Potter didn't want him surely? Not all of him at least.

 

Potter just loved...clocks...

 

But either way, whatever Potter did or did not love, Draco knew he wouldn't be able to come to a coherent decision while pressed to a mattress with the object of his affections hovering over him and dancing one step away from humping his leg - or making Draco hump Potter's leg, not that the distinction mattered really.

 

"Right and now that I've seen your indeed not dead, I can get going, I've a schedule to keep you know." Draco slipped back into his usual drawl as he stared up at Potter's face and not his mouth. No, definitely not his mouth.

 

"Mhmm." Potter hummed in thought, running the hand on Draco's chest up until his finger slipped through one of the gaps between buttons. "I think not, want to know why?"

 

"Not really."

 

"Because you have been giving me nothing but mixed signals for months." Potter said very seriously as he plucked a button on Draco's shirt open.

 

"I have not." Draco argued, trying and failing to understand what Potter was talking about. There hadn't been any signals...had there? "Stop that." He snapped as another button sprung free.

 

Potter shook his head and licked his lips. "Oh yes you have. One minute you're laughing and flirting with me and the next your all business. Very confusing and frustrating and...hot. I like a chase you know."

 

Draco wasn't sure why but that admission was oddly hot in itself, the thought of Potter chasing him, like he was some desired prize. Really it should have pissed him off, being equated to an object to be won, but like all things Potter his body and mind never reacted rationally and properly. It didn't help that his thoughts kept dressing Potter up in his Auror uniform, with sweaty hair and muddy boots (that really should have been discarded at the door but Potter was obviously too much of a brute to do so), holding Draco's slighter body down and proclaiming with a cocky grin that he'd won before taking his prize.

 

So instead of glaring and spewing threats his heart just skipped a beat...or two. Stupid heart.

 

"You haven't been chasing." Draco fought to keep his eyes open as Potter shifted his leg again - which was just malicious - and his fingers slid through the now open front of Draco's shirt. His fingers were far too hot and calloused, sending shivers down the confused clockmaker's spine. "You've just been seeking endless repairs for your freakishly enormous clock collection." He reasoned, biting his lip to keep a groan in and trying his best to ignore the lingering downward look of Potter's eyes as his cock hardened undeniably in his trousers.

 

Merlin he was doomed and slightly overwhelmed with the stark reality of just how much Potter actually affected him.

 

Potter grinned evilly and rocked forward, forcing a choke to scratch through Draco's throat. God but Potter's thigh felt like pure, taut, muscle. There was yet another noise that some could say resembled a whimper, but Draco's would sooner die before he was one of them, as he felt his body rise to meet the heat Potter was creating - his pale hand reaching out in an attempt to push the relentless man away but somehow only managed to get tangled in Potter's shirt at the small of his back.

 

"I don't have a clock collection. I buy them, smash them, and then have a reason to keep showing up at your door." Potter murmured in a low tone, apparently pleased with the shirt grabbing and the sound that wasn't a whimper.

 

"Nonsense." Draco frowned at the admission that he had been indeed right that Potter had been playing him - at least playing him where clocks were concerned. "We both know that you're not one for subtly, why wouldn't you just ask me out properly if that's what you wanted?" Draco gripped the shirt tighter as Potter's fingers trailed over his chest, tracing up into the hollow of his throat. This really wasn't fair, they shouldn't be having this conversation like this, how was he supposed to concentrate with Potter lighting burning fires all along his body?

 

But maybe that was part of Potter's plan, a rather ingenious one Draco had to confess, given his penchant for running away and turning cold at anything hinting at feelings. Draco preferred the Slytherin method to handing matters of the heart - pushing them down until they erupted violently or giving in and using blackmail tended to work wonders as well.

 

He bit his cheek, alright so maybe there had been some mixed signals, but he hadn't done so intentionally - at least he was pretty sure he hadn't. Honestly it was hard to say, considering how muddled Potter tended to make his brain.

 

"I did ask you out! Ten times actually." Potter grumbled with a pout to his full red lips

 

"I don't think - oh." Draco started then stopped as his mind flooded with memories of Potter asking him out to dinner or for a pint, he had even once asked him to a play of one of Draco's favorite books. But he had always just assumed that...what? That Potter was just being nice? That he wanted to hang out as friends? That he wanted to get Draco to say yes just so he could laugh in his face and yell 'just kidding, god look at your face!' like they were sixteen year old enemies again?

 

"Yeah, oh."

 

"I didn't realize..."

 

Potter let out a laugh, the pout leaving his lips as a cocky smug expression took over, his hand running up Draco's neck to linger on his jaw. "And you call me daft. I even tried to kiss you once you know?"

 

"You did not, I think I would have realized that." Draco narrowed his eyes, certain Potter was trying to make him feel like an even bigger idiot. Plus the shifting of his thigh had stopped and Draco desperately wanted the friction back. It was just cruel, starting something like that - against his will even - and then just ceasing all rocking. It had to be some kind of medieval torture.

 

Potter nodded as Draco adamantly shook his head in denial. "We were sitting at your kitchen table, you leaned over to grab a takeaway container and I -"

 

"Did the Healers look at your head? I think you may have hit it harder then you realize, perhaps a concussion?"

 

"You shoved a dumpling in my mouth." Potter raised an eyebrow, fingers curling to dig into Draco’s jaw so he was forced to stare up into Potter's wide, sincere gaze.

 

And that really shouldn't have felt so good - the rough, demanding touch - but good lord did it make his stomach flip.

 

"Oh...right." Draco clearly remembered the incident now, remembered how Potter's looming face had made his pulse jump and his cheeks flush and his fingers itch. He also remembered the panic that had gripped him the closer Potter came and how he had just shoved the nearest thing at Potter to get him to stop - too fearful of what was actually happening.

 

And then he apparently convinced himself he had misread the whole situation, except...he hadn't.

 

"I repeat - cute." Potter said, dipping his face lower and nearly making Draco go cross eyed as he refused to close his eyes and look away. "Think I can make you say 'oh' again?" He flashed his teeth and Draco stopped breathing seconds before Potter's lips were on his.

 

Draco let out an undignified sound that settled somewhere among a squawk of surprise, a moan, and a demand for further explanation. Potter, being the antagonizing prat that he was, just chuckled - the sound vibrating through their chests as he gripped Draco's jaw forcefully and deepened the kiss, using his tongue that tasted like honey and black tea in what Draco could only describe as an attempt to drive him insane.

 

It was working.

 

Draco was acutely aware of Potter's mouth, his wicked tongue, his taste and feel, of the stubble on Potter's chin that rubbed against his own, of Potter's glasses digging into his cheeks, of the hand that was caressing his face, and the other one was that was curling it's fingers through his own as Potter shifted until he was lying nearly completely on top of Draco - their legs still hanging awkwardly half off the bed.

 

Potter was heavy and scorching and hard, his length pressing against Draco's in a blissfully surreal moment that made Draco groan a loud 'oh' into Potter's mouth. He was also an amazing kisser - despite the triumphant grin Draco could feel on the other man's lips at his little outburst. And yet at the same time it was almost like being kissed by an inexperienced teenager, with scraping teeth and so full of pressure - eager and overly zealous, then again, maybe that was why Draco could feel it tingling all the way to his toes.

 

He didn't think normal people kissed like that. Like a kiss was, well...sex.

 

Potter demanded as much as he gave, he nipped and sucked and licked and moved his lips and hips in a wild rhythm that made Draco think that he had been thinking about kissing him for quite some time. And Draco found himself just gripping Potter's shirt with his hand that was getting sweaty, curling his leg around Potters, and trying to remember to breathe and not let his heart beat completely out of his chest like it was threatening to do, as he tried to shove the sound of the bed starting to squeak under them to the back of his brain with everything else.

 

Because he was pretty sure squeaking beds shouldn't be some sort of aphrodisiac on top of it all, but Merlin help him it was, it was like the icing on the cake that was Potter's straining cock rutting against his and the tongue that was fighting with his in his mouth. It was sloppy and wet and urgent and...

 

He was fast losing himself in the epiphany that kissing could be like this, like pure heat.

 

"You've been drinking my tea." Potter panted when he, rather rudely in Draco's opinion, pulled back just enough so only their noses were touching.

 

"Untrue." Draco sucked in air, blinking his eyes in effort to get the fuzzy tint away from his vision. "Your tea is only fit for unrefined peasants." He wiggled a little, pressing his fist against the small of Potter's back, desperate for the squeaking to come back - and thus bringing the friction with it.

 

"And Malfoy's apparently." Potter smiled, biting his wet lip and twisting his fingers through Draco's hair, watching the flaxen locks intently. "I like it, when you look like this."

 

"My hair?" Draco wrinkled his brow in confusion, wondering idly why they were talking and not snogging, because the latter was clearly the better of the two options.

 

"No, well yes, kind of." Potter leaned down and nibbled at his neck, trailing his tongue up the gentle curve until he reached Draco's ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth for one tantalizing second. "I like it when you've got grease all over your face and hair, when you're so focused on your work that you don't even realize that you're getting it everywhere, when you forget to button your shirt in the right holes because you stayed up too late the night before and had to rush out of bed to meet me."

 

"Why on earth would you like that?" Draco shuddered and freeing his hand from Potter's grasp, tangled his fingers in Potter's hair like he'd been wanting to for weeks now. He didn't know what he had been expecting but it wasn't this - it was soft and springy, dancing through his fingers as he gripped and pulled gently, forcing those lovely lips back to his neck and feeling Potter's corresponding sigh of pleasure down deep in his groin.

 

Potter sucked for a moment longer before looking up and locking his eyes on Draco's, the green of his irises having taken on a deeper shade than he was used to seeing. It was like looking at lust barley bridled, straining for freedom. "I don't know, I think...there's something about you looking dirty when you're always so posh, it's intoxicating." He blushed then and pressed a hard kiss to Draco's lips to distract them both for a moment. When he pulled back he slid his fingers sideways to touch the goggles atop his head. "And I really like these. They makes your eyes insane."

 

"You're mad Harry Potter." Draco breathed softly, all the air caught in his chest as Potter examined his face and fondled his goggles. Yet Draco found he wasn't so bothered by that fact, instead it sent the fire inside him blazing. He had always known something was loose in Potter's head but this...this was brilliant. He could deal with a mad Potter, he could fit with a mad Potter.

 

"Probably. Don't get me wrong, you looked unbelievably hot at the Hollyhock the other night but...fuck I want you right now."

 

Well damn.

 

"And yet the rocking stopped." Draco pointed out, allowing a slow smile to spread across his lips at the flash of confusion to pass over Potter's face before it morphed into understanding with a delighted grin.

 

"Mhmm, is that your way of saying you want me too?" Potter had that smug look back - the lust in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, and the red, puffiness of his lips only dampening the infuriating look a little.

 

Draco didn't like Potter looking smug, besides he had promised himself to personally make sure Potter's head didn't explode with self-importance. "I haven't decided yet."

 

"Really now?"

 

"Really."

 

"I suppose I should convince you then." Potter got a rather salacious look on his face, indecent to its very core. But Draco had only a second to ponder the wisdom of his decision before his lips were being attacked and there were hands on his hips as he was pushed inexplicably up the bed - Potter's mouth never leaving his even when he felt his head hit the headboard and he hissed into the kiss. It was all dissolving into a muddle of senses, of pulling and grabbing and jerking, bodies grinding hard into each other with muffled moans and stilted curses.

 

It was bliss, slowly plucking apart Draco's ability to think of anything beyond what his body was feeling and the blasted squeeze in his chest and the flutter in his stomach. He thought while he spun into a pool of liquid need that he had been a bloody idiot, not doing this sooner, not noticing all of Potter's little hints and gazes and touches - of course it would have helped if he had known for sure that Potter was actually gay. But there was something else, something nagging, something completely traitorous knocking at his subconscious, at his ears, and Draco growled at it - seeking the lips that were hovering a centimeter above his and grabbing Potter's firm arse.

 

Teasing. Caressing. Fucking knocking....

 

Oh.

 

"Wait!" Draco cried suddenly as Potter broke the kiss to yank the shirt from his body. "W-wait." He said again, with a little less volume and panic.

 

"What?" Potter's chest was heaving, his hair so disheveled Draco was sure it would take a week to even begin to tame it even a fraction. In essence he looked like battle, and Draco loved that look, in fact it was the star in most of his recent fantasies. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked with honest worry.

 

"No, it's just..." He paused and looked around them, at the four white walls and the white table, with a white clipboard and white paper and a phial of white liquid - fucking white. Not to mention the knocking, the rapping at the door that was glaringly obvious now that Draco wasn't drowning in Potter's addictive taste. "We're in the hospital." He said at last with remorse.

 

"Mr. Potter?" The high pitched voice of some nameless, faceless Healer that sounded like she had been breathing nothing but smoke for years came floating through the door at a pause between knocks.

 

"Yea." Potter said slowly, glancing briefly behind him. "I sealed the door." He nodded like that solved everything and then he was kissing Draco's neck and his hands were back on Draco's hip and thigh and everything was starting to getting fuzzy again - pushing away the vague curiosity of just when Potter had done that.

 

Except, damn it, they were in the bloody hospital!

 

Draco gathered his resolve, sucked in a breath, and tried to detach himself - but Merlin was Potter skillful with his tongue.

 

"Potter, stop." He pushed at his shoulder until the attack of lips and hands and hips slowed to a stop with a grunt. "You're in the hospital." He clarified, unfurling his hand that was still tangled in Potter's shirt away from the damp, wrinkled fabric. "I don't think - shouldn't you be resting?"

 

"Mr. Potter, please open the door." The tone was slightly less nice this time, the doorknob jiggling threateningly.

 

"No." Potter smiled and caught Draco's hand, pressing it into the bedding by his head, he leaned down and pressed a wet open mouthed kiss to the tender skin of the underside of his wrist. "I'm fine, just waiting for Robards to sign off on my release actually, although he's taking his sweet time with it. I think it might be his way of punishing me."

 

"You're fine?" Draco repeated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

 

"Er yeah?" 

 

"Mr. Potter, I insist you open this door right now. It's time for your potions!" The Healer marooned on the other side had lost all sense of patience, the knock that resounded vibrating through the room.

 

Draco sighed and cocked an eyebrow.

 

Potter looked sheepish, biting his lip and plucking at the tangled sheet. "Alright so maybe not all better." He admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But I'm mostly fine and god you feel good and I just...I can take the potion and kick her back out?"

 

Draco continued to stare, watching as Potter deflated before him.

 

"...alright and after a test, a few tests." Potter grumbled. "So I'll take the potions, do the tests, and then I could...?"

 

"Well then." Draco said primly, his mind switching back and forth between answers so fast he couldn't settle on one. On the one hand Potter looked absolutely gorgeous and randy and damn it, he wanted Potter - but even more amazingly Potter wanted him. On the other hand Potter was in the hospital. And that was really what it came down to wasn't it? The argument was moot. "I suppose..." Potter grinned, moving forward with the obvious intention of picking back up where they left off - apparently already haven forgotten that there was a fuming Healer trying to break his door down.

 

But Draco couldn't ignore it like the super human Auror could. This was not the place to...do whatever they were about to do. Not with people trying to get in and not after either because as much as Potter said he was fine, Draco saw the little flinches and heard the little grunts of pain that Potter liked to sooth away with a rather spectacular movement of his pelvis. He scolded as he clutched Potter's shoulders, wishing very much that he didn't care so bloody much about the idiots well being and could just get on with it, because Merlin was he hard.

 

Being in love made people soft apparently. Even emotionally detached Slytherin’s.

 

"Mr. Potter!" The Healer shouted.

 

"The door Potter." Draco wretched his mouth free with a supreme amount of determination that he was rather surprised he possessed. A determination that was quickly tested when Potter whined and tried to tackle him back down, all hands and lips and wild inky hair. "Merlin man, she's going to blast it in if you don't get up!"

 

Potter sighed dramatically, his head hanging for a moment before he flopped back on the bed. "I have the worst damn luck."

 

"I wouldn't say that." Draco smiled coyly, slipping from the bed and trying to steady his hands as he buttoned his shirt back up.

 

"And why's - YEAH JUST A SECOND! - why's that?" Potter screamed towards the door before turning back to Draco, in a rather amusing turn of events. Wasn't Potter supposed to be the king of politeness and gentleness and chivalry and all that rot?

 

"Because I'll see you." Draco replied, fixing the lines of his shirt and trousers as much as he could but knowing that it was a truly helpless endeavor, he was doomed to leave the room looking like he had just been fucked silly - which really did nothing to help flag his raging erection that was ridiculously painful now.

 

"So...you're going?" Potter rasped, sounding truly terrified of that possibility.

 

"Yes." Draco smoothed his hair and turned to stare down at Potter who was propped on his elbows and sprawled on the bed with his shirt ridding up his stomach and a wet spot standing stark and clear on his cotton pants - the sight making Draco momentarily reconsider his decision.

 

"Why?" Potter hopped up, grabbing his waist and pulling him into his broader body. "I thought...you want this?" He sounded small then, uncertain, despite the fact that there was no way he couldn't feel Draco's hard cock on his hip or not notice the emotions clouding his normally reserved gray eyes.

 

Draco knew he looked like a loony mess, a horny loony mess even, but still Potter stared at him - worrying his bottom lip as he waited for Draco to respond.

 

It was oddly enduring, hearing the strain in his voice and seeing the nervousness in his eyes.

 

"Oh I do, very, very much indeed." Draco kissed him, cupping the back of his head and bending him back and into Draco's frame. Potter moaned and grabbed his shoulders, reacting more spectacularly than Draco could have ever imaged. Sadly their embrace was cut short at yet another shout and bang bang from the door. He broke away and spoke into his ear, pressing their cheeks together and making sure Potter could feel every line of his body as he did so. "But you're in the hospital." He let his hand drift lower to grasp the injured man's hip between his fingers in a firm hold that had Potter stifling a whimper. "We'll...finish...when you have a clean bill of health."

 

Potter let out a long, shaky breath, his heart beating fast against his chest. "Merlin Draco, you're going to kill me."

 

"Giles' already tried that, you're resilient." He pulled away after one last quick kiss, walking somewhat stiffly towards the door. "Get better soon." He said, sending him a little smirk before pulling the door open and striding with as much dignity as he could past the angry Healer. He felt the smirk stretch his swollen lips at her glare and near sputter, the taste of Potter still on his tongue as he rounded the corner and walked straight past Weasley who was sitting slumped in a chair, fidgeting his thumbs and looking bored out of his skull.

 

Right, Weasley, he had forgotten about him.

 

"How did -" Weasley choked, his eyes going comically wide and his cheeks flaming.

 

"Great." Draco felt a giddy smile that he was sure had never graced his face before completely finish the picture of his debauchery. "Potter's...great."

 

Though maybe he should start calling him Harry...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I'm so glad to hear you guys are liking this :) Only one more chapter to go!


	6. Chapter 6

6 o'clock sharp.

 

The second hand ticked, ticked, ticked, the minute hand shifted its barely noticeable clank, and Draco relaxed on his stool - the pocket watch snug against his palm with the long bronze chain tangled around his fingers.

 

He smiled at it. At the smooth glass surface, at the three ink black hands, at the gears that were working effortlessly and in perfect synchronized fashion inside its casing. He snapped it shut with a brush of his thumb, his sensitive touch tracing over the neatly carved lettering with an ease that spoke of old habits and long nights filled with mumbled prayers as his fingers ran and ran over its surface.

 

It brought back a flood of memories.

 

And yet they were memories shifted. Memories now seen through glasses of a different color. Not better nor worse exactly. Just different. Draco supposed time could do that, dull the ache, splatter paint over the deepest of nightmares - making them hard to make out unless you squinted and forced your mind back. Or perhaps the past had just been standing still, waiting for him to decide to move on before it could start fading...

 

He snorted and set the watch down on the workbench, how in the world had he become so sentimental? So...in-tune to his emotions? It was a rather infuriating development, one he wasn't all too pleased about.

 

But in all actuality he knew exactly why he was being so...reflective.

 

It was all Harry Potter's fault. Bloody typical.

 

The man made Draco itch and ache and want, made his mind dull and sharpen, made him want things he never thought he would. Draco had seen enough of what relationships, love, and loyalty did to people to sour him for over a dozen lifetimes. They always ended up festering with corruptions, pain, and lies. They were messy and left the people involved in pieces, sometimes literally in his experience. He had sworn not to tangle himself accordingly but Potter had a thing for ruining his plans. Something he had apparently not grown out of over the years.

 

He wondered if they had ever really stopped chasing each other since that first day they met. It seemed like Potter was doomed to not only stand as a pillar and symbol of his youth but for all his days.

 

There were worse things to be tied to he supposed.

 

But still, it was...worrisome, painful to acknowledge the squeeze in his heart, even more so to let it out and let himself dwell in it. He didn't know how to settle himself into the pure elation that felt like cresting on his broom with the wind in his face and his stomach plummeting with that thrill. It felt like it would surely kill him at any moment and make him finally let go and live in the same breath.

 

Intoxicating. Love was intoxicating and he didn't really know how to handle it. Malfoy's weren't bred for love and perhaps that was why he had always been so angry with Potter, maybe it was all part of the chasing, part of the thrill that pulled and gnawed at him.

 

Draco had promised himself that he wouldn't go back to the hospital after he had fled home and rather urgently relieved himself, touching himself to the memory of Potter's touch and kiss, of how his name had rolled off the other man's tongue as he was devoured like a dessert. He had been adamant that Potter would come to him and that he would take the time until then to mull over his...issue...and decide on a logical course of action.

 

He figured if he gave himself enough space and time that he'd come down from the high, touch his feet back to the ground, and be able to forget the silly notion that he could be ensnared by the likes of Potter.

 

He had even gone so far as to sit down to write out a pro's and con's list like Nott used to do for everything when his mind refused to un-jumble, slow down, and untangle itself from the delirious loop it had been sent spiraling into since Potter had pushed him down onto the bed. He had gotten as far as writing down a single word before he was suddenly in his bedroom, making himself pristine and perfectly manicured from every angle before rushing back to the hospital.

 

Well not, rushing, there was no running involved, he was very deliberate about that.

 

He tried to talk himself out of it the entire way down the hall, tried to ignore the fact that he was wearing the emerald green jumper because he remembered that Potter seemed to really like it when he wore it. It was a useless endeavor it turned out.

 

Potter grinned when he saw him, sitting against the pillows in his bed with an untouched breakfast on the table next to him, and reading the Prophet. "Seen this?" He had asked in lieu of a greeting, cocking an eyebrow as Draco hovered uncertain in the doorway.

 

He had shook his head and was then treated to the black and white image of himself backhanding Auror Giles across the face and grinning like an evil loon (who really should have been locked up ages ago according to the following article), with twitchy eyes and flaring nostrils and mysterious goggles that were no doubt used for some nefarious purpose. 

 

Draco didn't know what he thought of the newspapers portrayal of himself but quickly decided to have the photograph framed when Potter jumped at him (only tripping once, knocking his knee on the bedside table, and flinching just a little), and proceeded to kiss him till they both couldn't breathe with Draco squished between Potter's hard body and the closed door.

 

He never realized what a wonderful position that was before and he wondered if it would be too much to hope that Potter would take to smashing him against walls on a regular basis.

 

Draco found himself smiling as the memory accosted him, it was strange, how easily they had slid into this new physical aspect of their...relationship? Whatever it was, it was brilliant, if not distracting, making sure Draco's mind was so constantly muddled he barely felt like he could ever think straight. Of course that was a tad bothersome. Draco prided himself on his quick tongued, clear minded, sufficiently aloof approach to everything.

 

But Potter...Potter made him flush and bite his lip (which he firmly believed should be an exclusively Potter thing) and even, Merlin help him, stutter. Malfoy's did not stutter. It was unacceptable, he didn't care that Potter seemed to like it, nor that when he let those sputtered sounds out he was treated with enthusiastic manhandling. It just added to the highly irksome reminder that Potter seemed to be especially attracted to him when he was less then collected, when he was...dirty as Potter had put it.

 

With a deep breath, Draco levitated the pocket watch till it was rotating gently in the air before his eyes. It caught the light, bending it in little fractures that seemed to dance before him, urging him on. Potter hadn't brought up his commissioned pocket watch since that night they went to dinner but upon returning from his second visit to the hospital - with love bites on his neck and a warm glow in his chest - he had felt compelled to do so.

 

But he didn't make it from scratch like he had intended. Potter didn't need something new, something shiny and bright and untouched. This was better, this was...Draco.

 

Fitting the goggles over his eyes, Draco fiddled with the dial until his vision morphed and he could see all the spell work entwined throughout the old timepiece. There was just one more charm to cast and it would be finished, the perfect piece to end Potter's clock smashing habits. As he spoke the incantation, his voice a breathy whisper, his magic pulsing over and through it, Draco felt his heart pick up a beat - the elegantly engraved HP winking in and out as it turned.

 

Over the last three days Draco had found himself playing Potter's role, finding it impossible to stay away like he had firmly decided on. He had shown up at the hospital with Potter's favorite tea, then with his favorite Indian takeaway, then with a bag of fatty treats that he knew Potter had a particular weak spot for. Strangest of all he found that the realization that he knew exactly what Potter preferred down to the fact that he hated anything made with an abundance of coconut milk (but would oddly slather peanut sauce on foods that shouldn't even touch peanut sauce) only unsettled him a little.

 

It was exhilarating and terrifying how much he loved the look on Potter's face each time he appeared in his doorway, loved the way he bit his lip and smiled, loved how he tousled his hair, and glanced shyly away like they hadn't just been dry humping the day before. He found himself looking forward to the hours sitting on Potter's hospital bed talking and listening to him laugh - something Potter still seemed to do in an overabundance. He was forced during these hours to admit that Potter was somewhat charming, that he was funny even, and not at all as aggravating as Draco liked to pretend he was. But most gratifying of all, he realized that Potter was rather easy to talk to, something that he had known for months now really but had refused to acknowledge.

 

Draco rarely found people easy to converse with and he couldn't help but become a little more enamored with the wild haired man because of it.

 

Great conversation aside, he also looked forward to when Potter finally had enough chatting and would knock the things between them away and kiss him. It happened different each time too, something Draco hadn't expected, he rather thought Potter would have a single tracked kind of mind and would stick to a strict method - almost as if he was reading from a manual. But he didn't.

 

He came at him slow one day, scooting closer until only the tips of their fingers were touching, and then with a coy smile and upwards glance through his thick dark lashes, leaned forward and kissed him gently - moving their lips together in a feather light caress that had Draco's entire body buzzing and shivering before it was over. It was the kind of kiss that shouldn't have been so arousing, that was more of a promise than anything but it turned Draco inside out anyway.

 

The next time he had swept the empty takeaway containers to the floor with a hungry look in his eye and threw himself on Draco, pulling the blond under his body in a kiss that had their teeth clashing and hands grabbing. It had been a hot, sweaty affair, with loosened shirts and nearly undone trousers before they had accidentally tumbled from the narrow bed and Potter hit his head on the table and they had to call the Healer to stop the bleeding.

 

The last time had more wall smashing. Potter waited until Draco was leaving before he pressed him into the door and kissed up his neck then down the other side - completely neglecting Draco's gasping lips until he couldn't take it any longer and he had bodily hauled Potter's mouth to his in a kiss that he may have made some rather embarrassing sounds during. Draco was unsure what he had been stuttering with Potter's hands on his hips, his fingers rough and possessive as he trapped Draco more and more with every twitch of his pelvis.

 

And that's how his days went, he would wake up, work on the pocket watch, visit Potter, come home and wank (because they never went that far due to the fact that the universe seemed to be conspiring against them, as clearly portrayed when the door opened just as Potter had yanked Draco's thigh up his hip and was doing some spectacular grinding, sending them tumbling backwards to the hard ground with the Healer glowering over them), and then work on the pocket watch some more. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt he needed to finish the timepiece before Potter's release or why he even needed to make it at all.

 

He just did.

 

His voice stilled as the incantation came to an end and the pulsing around the watch glowed bright before ebbing out. It was finished. Draco let it drift back to the wooden bench, clunking softly as it landed. Now all he had to do was get up the courage to actually give it to Potter. Not that the other bloke would have the slightest idea of its significance unless Draco deemed it necessary to tell him and in all reality he couldn't for the life of him decide if he actually wanted to or not.

 

Surely it would only swell Potter's massive ego. Or just make Draco look like a pinning fool. Or maybe a bit demented. Or maybe Potter wouldn't see it all like that...maybe he would get it. Maybe. 

 

Draco cursed the little leap in his pulse as a knock rattled his door. He glanced at the time and forcefully wiped the smile off his face, it would not due to open the door smiling like a love sick puppy, no matter how happy he was that Potter had finally been released from the hospital (a release that really was overdue, Draco having to begrudging admit that Potter had been right, that his supervisor was keeping him there for some unknown reason). Just because he felt excited didn't mean he had to show it though, he needed to keep some cards close to his chest as it were. Rising from his seat, he reached up to discard his goggles before he remembered Potter's truly bizarre affinity for them and just shoved them onto his forehead instead.

 

"You know Potter, you are a Wizard, you could just use the Floo instead of trudging up all those steps." Draco smirked as he pulled the door open in one fluid motion.

 

"Could I then?" Potter was smiling, his gaze sweeping up and down Draco in a way he was quickly growing accustomed to. He rather liked it, liked the way Potter's gaze turned greedy as he took him in, liked the way Potter would tug his fingers through his curls if he was particularly enchanted by what Draco was wearing.

 

Like he was doing now and Draco had to resist a snort. So Potter hadn't been lying, he really did like Draco in rumbled shirts that had a few buttons missing (he had done that on purpose this time, just to test the theory), liked the grease on his cheek and fingers, liked his mused hair (mused but still stylish he might add), and liked the goggles on his head. He couldn't help but wonder if Potter had fantasied about fucking Draco while he was so disheveled and wearing his goggles.

 

Probably, the kinky bastard.

 

"It's not so hard surely, has no one taught you yet?" Draco quipped an eyebrow, watching with amusement as Potter's vivid gaze snapped back up to his. "Or is your speech simply to incompetent to work it properly?"

 

"Haha, very funny. What I meant was that I thought your Floo was typically closed except for scheduled clients?" So Potter apparently did pay attention to when Draco spoke.

 

Draco turned and walked into his flat, leaving the door open behind him as he did. "It is, but you might find that it will let you through." He murmured without looking back, suddenly a bit nervous as to just what that gesture meant.

 

"During scheduled visits?" Potter asked as he followed and Draco could hear the grin in his words.

 

"Yes...and whenever." Draco waved a dismissing hand in the air as he kept walking, stopping before his bench and staring down at the silent watch...Merlin, why was he so nervous all of a sudden? With a deep, steadying breath he scooped up the watch and spun back around, holding it out between them, his eyes glued to the little circle of metal in his palm. "Here." He cursed silently at himself at the abruptness of which he presented it, the ball of nerves tightening in his stomach making him feel far too jumpy.

 

He just needed to get it over with.

 

"What is it?" Potter cocked his head and let his fingers dance over Draco's, skirting shy of the watch and making Draco's skin bloom with heat - how in the world he was capable of making Draco melt just from that was highly irksome but he refused to be turned into a muddled puddle before he got this done with.

 

"A pocket watch, I should think that was obvious."

 

"Yes I can see that." Potter didn't seem even remotely fazed at Draco's snarky remark, he just kept smiling and touching. Merlin but a light touch shouldn't feel so good, let alone a simple caress on his fingers, there had to be something wrong with him. "It's beautiful." His tone dipped low in soft tones and his fingers skipped over Draco's knuckle to finally touch the smooth metal, tracing the engraved, twining Hollyhock that ran in a circle around the outer edge. "Are those my initials?"

 

"Yes." Draco nodded as Potter glanced up and caught his eye.

 

"This is for me then?" He asked, holding Draco's gaze in a look that somehow seemed more intimate than anything they'd done to each other so far.

 

"You didn't pick a design." Draco countered, feeling a flush on his cheeks that seemed silly and uncalled for. But he couldn't help it, he suddenly felt far too exposed. Maybe this had been a bad idea, he had no clue what he had been thinking.

 

"I love it but...how in the world did you have time to make this?" Potter was still holding his hand as Draco held the watch and Draco knew this was the moment, the moment to lie or tell the truth - the moment that he could either pretend or let Potter see...

 

"It's not...new."

 

"Oh? Have a lot of watches with my initials lying around do you?" Potter quipped, grinning in an amused way that Draco felt suddenly compelled to kiss away.

 

"No you dimwit, it's..." He trailed off, lifting his hand and letting the long chain slip through his fingers until it dangled in the air, swinging in a soft turn. "It's 15 years old." He flicked it with a quick tap and sent it spinning quickly, drawing Potter's eyes back down to it as it spun and spun. Then with a muttered spell the HP morphed and shifted and the old DM shimmered back into existence as the watch stopped in a fluid halt - held frozen before Potter's gaze with invisible fingers.

 

Potter's brow creased, his eyes darting up to Draco's for a split second before they resettled on the pocket watch. "It was yours?" He reached forward and drew his finger over Draco's initials, blinking once then twice like he was trying to determine if it was just a trick of the eye.

 

"Yes."

 

"Why give it to me?" Potter's voice was so very quiet, so very soft.

 

"It was broken for years." Draco swallowed and gathering up the last of his resolve, leaned forward and pressed his lips to Potter's in a gentle kiss. "Ten to be exact." He murmured when he broke away, breathing in Potter's scent and letting the other man's shuttering breath wash over him.

 

"The war?" Potter let his fist curl around the watch, pulling it closer to his chest as he shifted nearer Draco in the same moment.

 

"A part." Draco conceded.

 

"And the other part?" He brushed his lips over Draco's, making a shiver pass down his spine and a lightness enter his head.

 

"He...woke up." Draco smiled faintly before pulling back and turning sharply away, his chest squeezing in a way that was starting to become all too familiar. He didn't know if Potter understood, if he knew Draco was talking about his near death experience in the forest or not. But it didn't matter, Draco had let it out, he had fixed the watch, it was ticking forward again - his initials melded with Potter's in a sea of complex magic and near indestructible metal.

 

He didn't wait around to find out either, with a panic that he had somehow just doomed everything, he started towards the kitchen where their meal was waiting under a warming charm. He never made it through the archway though, instead there was an arm sneaking around his waist and tugging, knocking him a step backwards and against Potter's solid, warm chest. "Thank you. I...its perfect." Potter spoke into his ear and Draco had to suppress a shiver. "I have something for you too."

 

"Oh? And what's that?" Draco asked, keeping his eyes locked straight ahead and wondering idly if Potter was going to press him into the wall like this - face first with strong hands keeping him in place. He frowned when he realized that sounded rather...appealing.

 

Merlin, Potter really had turned his mind to mush, rather permanently it seemed.

 

But there was no wall smashing, face first or otherwise, Potter simply pressed a kiss to the curve of his neck before releasing him and spinning him around in one fluid move. Draco figured that he really should be annoyed with all the tugging and spinning and lack of wall contact but then he found Potter's dancing gaze seconds before he noticed the slip of a paper he was holding up between his thumb and index finger.

 

"What's this?" He asked, having a strangely hard time concentrating on the small black lettering. Stupid Potter making him all jumbled again.

 

"It's a note." Potter looked so very pleased with himself, like he was presenting Draco with the best possible gift on the face of the Earth instead of a note on...hospital stationary. Seriously? Draco had just given him the most important thing he owned and Potter returns the favor with a blasted note?

 

"Really? I could not have guessed." Draco drawled sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

"It's a note." Potter repeated and just as Draco was about to point out that he had already said that, he continued with a sly smile. "It's the signed and sealed, well used to be sealed, note from my Healer explaining my exemplary good health and fitness."

 

Draco pursed his lips and stared. Just what the hell was Potter on about? Obviously he was healed, he was out of the hospital for heaven's sake. "And?"

 

"And," Potter slid closer, letting the paper snap out of existence, or maybe it just fluttered to the floor, Draco hardly cared which, as he was suddenly standing nearly nose to nose with a rather intense looking Potter. "It's my clean bill of health, just like you asked for." The smile he sent him was slow, curling at the edges with an unspoken promise that sent Draco's stomach twisting pleasantly.

 

He swallowed thickly as he remembered that first day at the hospital, how he had told Potter they'd finish what they had started when he had said note in his hand. And now he did and Draco found himself suddenly too nervous to even move, which wasn't at all like him, he really should have been throwing Potter into the wall like he was refusing to do to Draco and snogging him senseless - considering Potter just basically stated that he came to....finish with him.

 

Which, now that he knew what the note meant, really wasn't that horrible of a gift. Really it was quite brilliant.

 

"What if I want a proper date first?" He heard himself asking for some crazy reason, he didn't want to wait any longer, not with Potter leaning towards him and looking at him like that.

 

Potter took a step forward and Draco took a step back, much to Potter's amusement apparently. "We can do that. Where do you want to go?"

 

"I-I." Great he was starting to stutter. Fuck it all.

 

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Dinner?"

 

"No, I have..." Draco shook his head and glanced towards his kitchen, hoping Potter would catch on to the intended meaning.

 

"Movie?" Potter took a cautious step.

 

"No - wait, a what?" What the hell was a movie?

 

"Drinks then?" Another step forward.

 

"N-no." Damn it!

 

Potter smirked, taking one last step and reaching out he pressed his hand into the wall directly behind Draco. "Then what do you want?" He asked, angling himself closer.

 

"Tea." Draco muttered, watching Potter's mouth and wondering what he had been drinking on his way over to his flat. He had to have been drinking something, his lips were too red for him not to have been sucking down a scolding beverage. Though why he was suddenly so curious was anyone's guess, his mind and body felt like they were trying to backpedal up a steep hill with a flat tire to boot.

 

"You want to go get a cup of tea?" Potter scrunched up his nose, tipping his head slightly. "How about-"

 

Draco didn't let him finish, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to stop himself, he was drawn forward with a sheer need to know. With a sound that could have been a grunt or maybe a strangled moan, he reached out and grabbed Potter's head, yanking him forward until their mouths crashed together and his tongue sneaked past those burning lips.

 

He definitely moaned then, the taste of chamomile strong on the other man's tongue, his back knocking into the wall as Potter pressed forward. God he loved how Potter kissed, he put all of himself into it, using every little part of his body in a way that delved straight past Draco's defenses and crumbled all his reservations.

 

"No." He pulled back as suddenly as he started, his hands still buried in Potter's wild hair, his cheeks pink as he belatedly answered Potter's question.

 

"Are you trying to be confusing?" Potter laughed, looking like he didn't care one little bit if Draco was being a tad mental.

 

"No." Draco ran his fingers through Potter's curls, letting one hand drop down his neck to rest around his shoulder. He wondered if it was healthy how much he loved Potter's insane hair. Probably not.

 

"Are you planning on saying anything else all night?" Potter traced his lips with his thumb and Draco felt very much like licking the digit as it swept past. He somehow managed to refrain. "Or are you going to just stick with 'no'?"

 

"All night? A bit presumptuous don't you think?" Draco smirked, snickering at the lovely blush that rose quickly up Potter's neck and over his cheeks.

 

"I meant - you know what I meant."

 

"Mhmm." Draco hummed, twisting his fingers through the raven locks once more before letting them fall to his side and nudged him backwards until he could slip free. "Come on." He instructed, regaining some of his composure as he motioned Potter to follow him into the kitchen.

 

"What are..." Potter stopped in the doorway, a grin playing on his lips. "You cooked?" He asked with obvious disbelief as he eyed the two plates of food laid out on the table, a bottle of wine and two empty glasses waiting patiently to be filled.

 

"Yes, is that really so hard to believe?" Draco grumbled with a wave of his hand that had the cork popping out of the bottle and dropping like a feather floating on the wind to the table.

 

"Er, yeah?" He laughed, watching from his spot leaning against the wall as Draco filled the wine glasses with the deep red liquid. "Aren't you supposed to have a house elf or a cook or something?"

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Does it look like I have a house elf or cook stashed anywhere? Honestly Potter, it is not so difficult to sauté vegetables and roast a chicken." He snapped, which really wasn't exactly true - it had been a near disaster until he had broken down and recruited some outside help - setting the wine bottle down a little too roughly at Potter's openly incredulous expression. "What?"

 

"Nothing." Potter bit his lip and sauntered towards him, running his fingers along the table until his hand covered Draco's at the base of the bottle. "It's just...you cooked, it's -"

 

"Watch what you say next." Draco warned, narrowing his eyes.

 

"Sweet, I was going to say sweet. I've barely had a proper meal all week."

 

"Yes, I'm aware," He gestured to the plates, "obviously. Merlin Potter what is it?" Draco was growing quickly unnerved as Potter just kept watching him with that look in his eye, his hand tightening on his, and his face hovering ever nearer. He looked very much like his mind was whirling with an array of dubious ideas.

 

"Will it keep?" He asked in that low, rough voice that always set Draco's nerve on fire, his free hand curling around Draco's hip.

 

"Yes." Draco stood stalk still. "Are you not hungry?"

 

"No I am, I just..." He murmured, gripping Draco's slim hip with that possessive firmness that he was quickly coming to realize Potter apparently possessed towards him. "And I need -" He stopped, capturing Draco's lips in a firm kiss that clearly said it all.

 

Potter had been in the hospital, under semi surveillance, not exactly an ideal environment to take care of one's needs in. And Draco had been showing up every day, trying to look as stunning as he possibly could, fooling around with him until the near breaking point, and then...leaving. It sounded rather cruel when you put it like that. No wonder Potter was positively shaking against him, his trousers already tight with a hard bulge against Draco's hip.

 

Well he could fix that.

 

He heard Potter whimper into his mouth as he slipped his hand between them and cupped his hard length, squeezing gently and rubbing his fingers around it in a teasing touch. Merlin he was hard. "What do you need?" He whispered into Potter's ear after breaking the kiss, Potter's arms winding around him in a tight embrace that felt nearly crushing.

 

"God Draco." He pressed his face into the pale neck before him as Draco's fingers continued their onslaught.

 

"Tell me." He shimmied out of his arms and dropped to his knees in one fluid motion, running his palms flat up Potter's thighs until he was cupping the other man's cock through his jeans once more. Potter bit his lip and grasped the edge of the table with a fierceness that made the wood shake - staring down at Draco with green eyes that held an alluring darkness, like the spark he had been seeing had finally ignited and exploded, no longer bridled or restrained. "Do you want me to wrap my lips around your cock?" He asked, finding the suggestion settle in his belly like a coil of hot wire. He licked his lips.

 

Potter moaned.

 

Draco could feel Potter watching him avidly as he rubbed his crotch, his own gray eyes unable to look away from the movement of his hands even if he wanted to. It was mesmerizing. Then his fingers were working Potter's fly open and dragging his jeans and boxers down to his thighs and all Potter could do was groan loudly as the cold air hit his freed prick that was bouncing in front of Draco's face. "I'll take that as a yes." Draco smirked up at him and then grabbed the pale hips before him, leaning forward he pressed his cheek against Potter's crotch, the skin silky smooth and leaving a line of pre-cum sticking to his cheekbone.

 

He closed his eyes and inhaled, feeling like he might surely burst out of his skin at any moment if he waited a second longer, the knowledge that this was Potter making everything that much more intense. He opened his mouth, ran his lips over the slick tip, and sucked the length over his tongue. 

 

"Oh god, that's - that's...” Potter never finished saying what exactly it was but judging by the tense coil of muscles holding his body taut, and the fingers gripping the back of Draco's head, and his stuttering breath, Draco figured it was safe to assume that Potter thought it was brilliant.

 

And Draco was inclined to agree. Potter's cock was thick and long and much bigger then he would have previously given Potter credit for. He had to stretch his mouth wide and fight his gag reflex as he bobbed his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with vigor. His finger nails digging into Potter's hips, yanking him forward until Draco made a little gagging noise followed by a small, nearly silent moan.

 

But Potter heard it anyway, his eyes that had fluttered shut, snapped back open and stared down at Draco like he was going to devour him whole. He felt trapped, held in his gaze, with his cock filling his mouth and it was just...right.

 

Draco's stomach flipped and then continued to somersault as Potter's grip tightened in his hair as Draco worked his tongue and lips for only a moment longer before Potter was yanking his head backwards - his prick popping free with a loud sloppy sound as Draco gasped. "Get up." He demanded, his voice hoarse like he had been the one having a dick hitting his throat instead of the other way around.

 

Draco didn't comply right away, he felt frozen to the spot, unable to look away from Potter. He had never seen him looking like that, like he was going to conquer Draco and make love to him at the same time. He wasn't sure which one he wanted more, finding that the depth of his passion made his blood ignite, a little unnerved when he realized that he wanted to be conquered by Potter.

 

Sex had always been a dirty business to Draco, something in which he was always the one taking, the one in control.

 

"Why?" He asked softly, breathing deeply through his tingling, open mouth.

 

Potter didn't answer, instead he reached down, grabbed Draco's arm and hauled him back up until they were pressed together once more. His lips found Draco's, his hands keeping the blond steady as they wound around his back. Draco could barely process it all, it was just a jumble of senses, his mind spinning and body aching. He was vaguely aware through it all that Potter was walking him backwards but he could hardly care as he clutched at Potter's shoulders and fought with his tongue.

 

Then there was hard wood at the back of his thighs, then under his arse, the sound of metal tumbling to the floor as he felt hands and a chest pushing him down. But none of it really mattered as Potter just kept kissing him, devouring him, turning him into an inferno. Somewhere among it all his shirt was gone and his head was thrown back, sucking in air as Potter's lips descended down his neck and chest, his eyes blinking at the ceiling as it registered somewhere in the back of his brain that he was lying across his workbench.

 

He heard Potter murmuring to him, his words flowing over him, pricking his skin in goosebumps - felt Potter's tongue trace the dip of his stomach and the curve of his hip as his hands pushed Draco’s trousers and boxers down like they were made of nothing. His neck arched back as he gasped, his ears rushing, the tick of the clock looming in his sight like a shimmering mirage as Potter's mouth touched his cock. He felt fingers digging into his thighs, a warm wet tongue licking stripe after stripe, enthusiastic and reminiscent of the way Potter kissed.

 

He blinked at the hour hand, tried to focus on the seconds that were ticking as his hands found their way into Potter's hair, but he couldn't seem to catch it. Time was eluding him like it never had before and he felt like he was drowning without it, the break of the waves pulling him under again and again as Potter dragged him to depths he hadn't ever felt before. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed. Potter sucked and he cried out. Everything seemed to be spinning, all the air in the room refusing to fill his lungs, then Potter's lips were back on his, his body covered with Potter's equally naked one, and it didn't matter.

 

Time could stop for all he cared as long as Potter never did. He moved his lips and held on tight, lifting his legs as Potter's finger touched him where he never let any else go in a very long time. It slipped in and out and there was a wetness that he wasn't sure where it came from, but who cared as Potter seemed to know exactly how to coax his body into a puddle of goo.

 

"I want to be inside you." Potter rasped with his forehead pressed to Draco's cheek, his lips brushing his ear.

 

Draco may have answered or maybe just nodded, he couldn't be sure, but he could see Potter's green eyes, staring at him like he never intended to let Draco go. He tried to turn over, to comply with Potter's wishes that were strangely sitting inside him with glee instead of the trepidation that would normally accost him if any other lover would have said the same.

 

"No." Potter stopped him, his arms propped on either side of his Draco's head. "I want to watch you."

 

Then Potter was angling his hips and Draco forced his eyes to remain open and locked on Potter's as his body was slowly filled, a burning ache that made him grab at Potter's back and bite his lip accompanying it. "Good g-god." He stuttered, struggling for air. Potter kissed him, slowly, gently, distracting him with his taste and making Draco realize that he didn't really mind the burn so much, or even the pain. Because then Potter was all the way inside him, stretching him impossibly wide and filling him deliriously full and fuck...it was perfect.

 

Potter, it seemed, was destined to change his view on everything.

 

He felt his hips lift up off the table as Potter shifted and then he was moving, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before pushing back in. He knew there would be bruises on his body in the morning as Potter picked up his pace, driving into him with the table beneath him refusing to give and making sure Draco's body found no escape or respite. It was like being overtaken, Potter's mouth still commanding his, his hands grasping his sweaty body all over, pounding him open, and making Draco fall apart in his arms.

 

He heard himself curse and moan and cry out against Potter's lips and was treated with Potter's tongue against his each time. Then Potter shifted once more and his cock jammed deep inside and Draco cursed loudly, overwhelming pleasure cascading through him. He shook as Potter grinned and did it again and again, no longer kissing him but staring openly at his face like Draco was the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

 

"Like that?" He asked, his voice uneven and breaking, giving way just how much he was also affected.

 

Draco bit his tongue and tried to keep himself from succumbing to the waves crashing over him.

 

"Do you? Do you like that?" He asked again, his hips snapping forward with greater momentum. "God Draco you feel so incredible, so fucking perfect."

 

"Potter." He groaned, wrapping his legs around the other man's thrusting hips and pulling down on his back until he was crushed between Potter and the table - his own leaking cock trapped between them, the friction on his neglected prick nearly making him lose it. "H-harry. Yes, oh, oh!" He jerked his own hips up and down, his cock sliding between their stomachs and Potter's inside him making him feel like he was soaring somewhere among the stars.

 

It was too much, too intense, his back aching, his heart throbbing with Potter's unblinking gaze, and he was going to fall.

 

"Are you going to cum?" Potter asked, his thrusts starting to grow erratic.

 

Draco shut his eyes and nodded.

 

"Open your eyes, please, I want to see you." He moaned and when Draco did, Potter grabbed his face bringing them nearly nose to nose, mouth to mouth. "So, so breathtaking." He murmured.

 

There was a moment where it all seemed clear and sharp, a second before Draco felt himself cresting, and he knew that it didn't matter how messy this thing with Potter got, because there was no way he could give it up - no matter the cost, no matter the outcome. Love may have been a thing that only grew twisted with disease in his past but Potter was his future.

 

And Potter was light, he always had been.

 

Then he was gasping and arching, his muscles clenching around Potter's thick cock that felt so amazing as he came, a sticky warmth sticking them together as he twitched and screamed silently.

 

"Yes." Potter hissed, capturing his gaping mouth in a forceful kiss as he drove Draco into the table. Then he was seizing up, groaning long and low as his cock pulsed and he joined Draco in mindless bliss, moving in slow shallow pumps as the kiss turned slow and lazy.

 

As they laid there with Potter propped on his forearms, Draco's heartbeat was threatening to break his ribcage, his abused hole was starting to ache, and a laugh was bubbling up in his throat. When it came bursting out, it startled him nearly as much as it did Potter, who broke the kiss and stared down at him like he had broken him or something equally as horrifying.

 

"Draco?" He smiled tentatively. "Are you...okay?"

 

"Y-yes." Draco gasped between bursts of laughter, unsure where it was even coming from, tears pricking at his eye from the force of it. Merlin, maybe Potter had broken him. But he didn't feel broken, he felt light, and happy, and...hell he didn't know. Was it possible that someone could go mad simply from such an earth shattering orgasm? He threw his hands over his face as he tried to still the mad crackles raking through him, his fingers colliding with the goggles clinging to life haphazardly atop his head. "Merlin, I can't believe you just fucked me in these." He said, snatching them from his head and tossing them aside.

 

"I can, like I said, I really like you in them." Potter answered, his own little laugh starting to mingle with Draco's slowly dying ones.

 

"Kinky prat." Draco grumbled as he got his breathing under control, nudging Potter off him and wincing as he pushed himself up. "Why the hell are we on my workbench?" He asked, stretching his back as he watched Potter slide from the bench beside him.

 

Potter blushed as he reached for his jeans. "Er."

 

"What?" Draco probed, getting his first good eyeful of Potter's naked body. He was stunning, lean and fit and muscular in all the right places with a dark trail of curls leading down to his softening cock. He bit his lip at the memory that it had been inside him. "You don't really like my workbench to do you?"

 

"No." Potter shook his head which only just made him look like a wet dog with his sweaty curls bouncing back and forth. He dropped his jeans back to the floor in favor of rejoining Draco and inserted himself between his legs, his hands moving straight to his bruised hips. "Want to know a secret?" He asked with a mischievous look, toying with Draco's sensitive hipbone.

 

"Mhmm? Did you finally take my advice and push Giles out a window before coming over here?" He asked, his arms moving to curl around Potter's waist, his skin slick with sweat.

 

Potter laughed. "No but I did talk to Robarts and told him my suspicions. There's going to be an investigation." He paused and kissed him lightly. "You're so -"

 

"If you say cute Potter, so help me..." Draco glowered, recognizing the tone of voice and what typically proceeded it.

 

"Manly. You're so manly." Potter amended and Draco snorted.

 

"Right." He rubbed his hands along Potter's back, his skin smooth in some places and rough and puckered in others. He made a mental note to get personally antiquated with each and every one of Potter's scars and then have a serious discussion about protective gear. "So what's the secret then?"

 

"I've had this idea." He started slowly, the flush rising back in his cheeks. "For a few months now, about you laid across your workbench naked. Couldn't resist."

 

"You really are quite mad you know? There are far more comfortable places, like my bed, just there." Draco snickered, pointing a finger in the direction of his bedroom, unable to let the opportunity to tease Potter pass even though he found he quite agreed with said fantasy. "It's bouncy, more give, would have saved me some bruising."

 

"I didn't hear any complaining." Potter grumbled but he was biting his lip and glancing away nervously in a manner that was just much too enduring to continue.

 

"That's because you are a brute Potter." Draco smiled, nudging him with his thigh until he caught his eye. "A big, unrefined, brute."

 

"Am I?"

 

"Indeed."

 

"Mhmm, well perhaps I should make it up to you then?" He raised an eyebrow, trailing his fingers up Draco's side in a light touch that was making his stomach start that whole flipping thing it seemed to like to do around Potter.

 

"You have a suggestion?" Draco asked, trying to ignore the touch that was making his body stir with renewed interest.

 

Potter nodded. "I've heard you have a bed? Through there?" He pointed where Draco had been a moment ago. "I have yet seen proof of it but I'd be happy to be made aware of its existence."

 

"Would you?" Draco let his own hands drop until he was gripping Potter's waist. "Whatever for?"

 

"Well I was thinking that maybe...you could be the brute this time?" Potter looked up at him shyly then, his face suddenly free of the humor that filled it moments ago.

 

Draco's breath caught. "Potter-"

 

"Or maybe Harry. Cause you know...that's my name." He murmured, peaking at him through his soppy fringe, Draco's cock already half hard at the suggestion and the look on Potter's face.

 

Draco dragged him into a deep kiss, pulling back only when Potter appeared to be struggling to remain standing as he seemed to be shaking head from toe. "Harry...what about dinner?"

 

"It will keep." Harry licked his lips and smiled.

 

"Couldn't agree more." Draco grinned back and slipping from the bench pulled Harry towards his bedroom, kissing him all the way.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter - always happy/sad for me :) I wanted to thank everyone for reading, I love getting all your comments and I hope you thoroughly enjoyed this little fic as much as I did writing it!


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